Swan Song
by dumbledearme
Summary: So here we have Hannah Mills (a mash up between Henry and Emma), daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, adopted by Regina Mills during the First Curse of Storybrooke. I'm adding new elements from The Swan Princess, Once Upon a Time in Wonderland, 101 Dalmatians and Tangled.
1. Swan Lake Interlude

Hiya, guys! So this is because I actually miss OUAT and decided to have a little fun with the story. You're a more than welcome to join me.

This is a retelling of the TV Show with a few major differences and semi-original characters such as Hannah and Flynn Rider (original to the story, I mean). I'm using a single point of view, so a whole bunch of things will have to be cut off as well. Again, this is just for fun, so of course it has some holes all in all.

Hope you like it all the same! XOXO

* * *

 **Act I — The Dark Curse**

"The swan song is a metaphorical phrase for a final gesture, effort, or performance given just before death or retirement. The phrase refers to an ancient belief that swans sing a beautiful song just before they are to die, having been silent during most of their lifetime."

* * *

At first, I found nothing out of the ordinary. To my childish eyes, it certainly made no difference the oddities of my everyday life. I can't tell you when I started to notice that things weren't quite right with the people around me; one day, it just dawned on me—that lonely feeling of being the only one who can see the truth and still not quite understand it.

Children don't grow up. Not like me. When the grownups see me about, they often have that same surprised reaction, like it's the first time they are seeing me properly, like it took them this long to notice the changes about me.

"Dear God, girl, you've grown!"

"Hannah banana, look at you, you're so big!"

"Won't you ever stop growin', lass? Ha ha!"

The aftermath of that is the inadequate feeling I get, like I'm doing something wrong. Like there is something wrong with me. Like I am the strange one. I grow up when others don't. I change while everyone else stays the same.

It can drive you crazy.

September 2nd. Never fails to arrive. It is my mother's birthday. The Madam Mayor is thirty-five years old. Every September 2nd. Of every year. I started to notice that when I was seven, and to comment on it, but Regina only gives me that look that says I'm losing my mind and she's not quite sure how to deal with it.

"I turned thirty-four last year," she tells me but we both know that isn't true. She can't stand the heartbreak that gives me—the lies—so she turns away and avoids talking to me until I've decided to let the subject go. But however gullible I try to be, the truth still haunts me because I get to remember her turning thirty-five again and again and again.

Regina is not all bad, I don't think. She isn't around much anymore, but when I was young, when I didn't notice the inertia around me, we used to do everything together. She read me books and sang my lullabies. She took care of me whenever I was sick and not once did she complain about my moods. It was only when I started questioning her that she drew back, that she pushed me away.

We barely talk anymore. She denies my accusations with such skill I always end up doubting myself. Maybe there is something wrong with me—maybe I am crazy. I got mixed up. I can very well repeat the lies my mother tells me until it becomes easier to just believe it and to forget how eerie life truly is in Storybrooke.

When I was eight, I begged Regina to take me on a trip. "Anywhere," I told her. It didn't matter. I just knew I had to get out of Storybrooke for a while. I had to be away from those people frozen in time, doing the same thing every day like it was their first time at it.

Regina did everything to try and change my mind. But I was decided. I needed a break. Regina, of course, refused so vehemently that I was forced to think she had another reason for not wanting to leave Storybrooke. It couldn't be work; it is a small town, they would survive a few days without Madam Mayor. But Regina didn't give in and turned snappy whenever the subject was brought up again.

It was then that, alone in my room, I sat in front of the computer and googled 'Storybrooke, Maine'. There were no results. It is a small town, but it isn't possible that there is absolutely nothing about it out there. No records. No prints. It's like it doesn't exist. And for a moment back then, I remember I started to panic.

What if it doesn't exist? What if my life is a lie? What if none of it is actually happening? It is like being trapped inside a bubble, floating in outer space, just waiting for it to explode.

That must be when I die. When there is nothing left.

I have no one to talk about it either. I tried Regina, who must have been my best friend at one point or another, perhaps my only friend. But Madam Mayor doesn't tolerate children's foolishness. She doesn't tolerate curiosity, or stubbornness, or insistence, while I, on the other hand, don't tolerate resistance, stubbornness and lies. We yell at each other and I would end up slamming my bedroom's door in her face, and crying, and wishing I had been adopted by literally anyone else in the whole world, anyone as long as they don't live in Storybrooke, Hell.

Why can't Regina believe me? I never found out. That might have been the real issue that estranged the two of us. All I've ever truly wanted was for someone to believe me. Someone to listen, to take me seriously. Someone who doesn't exist in these parts. And there is zero hope of ever meeting someone new because nobody ever comes to Storybrooke.

It's like a curse.

That's what I believed at ten years old. But when I was twelve, I met a girl who was new in town. Lily. She was wild and strong, and had this really cool birthmark on her wrist in the shape of a star. She was the most interesting person I had ever known. She was everything I wanted to be. Lily would do what she wanted, never answering to anybody, never afraid of anything. She had come to Storybrooke in a bus from New York City. She was running away from her parents. She'd come from a home situation much like my own—adopted and misunderstood. Lily knew what it was like to live in a place where nobody cared about her. She knew what it was like to not fit in.

Lily was the best friend I never had. After a whole month of acquaintance, in which I skillfully hid her in my house without Regina noticing, her adoptive parents found her and took her back to New York. Both of us tried to keep in touch for a while, but things got complicated. I tried to run away from home once, too, I tried to go be with Lily in New York, but I can't leave Storybrooke. The town itself won't let me. The curse won't let me.

It is my own personal piece of hell.

It was around this time I started to have private sessions with Dr. Hopper. According to everyone, I am utterly crazy and I need professional help. There is something wrong with me after all. So Regina had to do something before the situation got out of hand. Like me, she knows the doctor can't help, but I suppose we both realize this is better than pretending nothing is the matter.

Some old wounds are opened when I visit with Dr. Hopper. He suggests that perhaps I am acting out because deep down I want to leave to go find my birth parents. He makes me ask painful questions aloud. Why have they given me away? Why have they given up on me? Why didn't they want me? Why did they condemn me to a life of watching the clock tower needles that will never move? Who are they? And what did I do to be discarded like a sack of bad potatoes?

The matter is taken with Regina as well. With every question, with every presented possibility, the edge between us grows, until there is nothing else between us except feign civility.

I've only known one person in Storybrooke with whom I don't have to pretend. I don't have to lie or be afraid that she'll think I'm crazy. She doesn't. Ms. Blanchard, the sweet school teacher, is who I go to whenever Regina acts less like a mother and more like an evil stepmother. Ms. Blanchard always knows what to say; she's never too busy to help. She has the true eyes of a loving friend—she is a comfort, a reward, a privilege.

When I was a child, she helped with stories. She would tell me of far-off kingdoms, magic spells, princes in disguise. Monsters and heroes. Fantastic lands. Things every little girl needs. When I grew up, her subjects became more honest. We discuss real things. Usually we end up talking about myself because Ms. Blanchard doesn't know—or can't remember—anything about her own past. That's not surprising. Ask anyone here any personal questions and their minds go blank.

I have given up hope that someday I'll get to move forward. I have accepted my fate. Here I am: Hannah Mills, adoptive daughter, likes pianos and flowers, reads lots of books, is decidedly crazy and honestly a bit of a bore. This is who I am going to be forever.

This is my curse.

Unbeknownst to me, however, things do start to change. With their arrival. The two dark strangers. Mysterious youths that comes to Storybrooke in old-school motorcycles that wakes up the whole neighborhood. They ask for rooms at Granny's B&B. And they follow me with their eyes like they expect something interesting to burst out of me.

They make everything change—and the clock's needle finally moves.


	2. The Price of Gold

Ruby and Ashley are talking about boys. They are always talking about boys, I realize now that I am old enough to hang out with them. Problem is: the number of boys our age in town is very close to zero. So they always end up talking about Bob, Granny's hot janitor, or Sean Herman, the son of a skunk who has gotten Ashley pregnant before deciding they should go their separate ways.

Ashley is a pretty girl but very poor. She lives with a stepmother and two half-horrible-sisters. But the main thing about Ashley is—she's been pregnant for ages. No, seriously, ever since I was born. I don't know what it is she's been carrying in her stomach for almost two decades—in fact, I'm not sure I want to find out—but I do know that whatever it is it'll never be born. It is just one of the 'frozen in time' things around here.

However, no one but me is aware of that. To them it has only been nine months. It is only I that have grown up watching the longest-standing pregnancy in the universe. Ashley and I sort of look alike: we're both small with blonde hair, large blue eyes and that good girl face that means next to nothing around here since neither of us is considered a "good girl"; Ashley got into the train wreck category with her teenage pregnancy, while I'm still considered an unstable child.

Ruby must have a category of her own. Tall, slim and beautiful, she makes boys and girls crack their necks for a good long look. Black hair that goes down to her waist. Brown eyes and thick red lips that makes people crazy. With her boobs and her endless legs, she is considered somewhat of a homewrecker. But Ruby is funny and cool and she doesn't give a damn to what people in Storybrooke think of her. A total diva.

It's late now; definitely way past my curfew. Still, I've decided it is preferable to face Regina's wrath later than go home now while she's probably still up and waiting for me. I lean against the peeled wall outside the library, sharing a soda with the other girls, trying to ignore the boredom of the night, thinking about how much of the same my sixteenth summer will be.

Thinking about my upcoming birthday, it is impossible not to wish for something great to happen. Something special… something… unexpected...

The sound of motorcycles startle us. We move our heads to the right in synchrony, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever is coming our way. The noise has called a bunch of people to their windows, their faces mirroring the curiosity I feel. Mounting the bikes is two strangers in leather jackets and jeans. There really isn't anything all that special about their appearances except that they weren't expected—they are a surprise, they are new, absolute mysteries.

Ashley, Ruby and I are opened-mouthed.

The bikers come to a halt before us, slowly removing their helmets so they can speak to us. They both have dark brown hair, but one of them is larger, stronger, and looks to be about twenty years old. The slender, younger one is closer to us in age, and he sets his dark-green eyes on me when he says, "Hey there. Is this Storybrooke?"

Although he is clearly talking to me, the three of us nod together, our shock too great for words.

"Any place to get a room around here?" asks the other one, hiding a smile.

Ruby is the first to recover, as it's to be expected. "Uh… You're staying then?"

The two of them exchange a meaningful look before the older one answers: "That's the plan. Just looking for a bed." His words have a forced tranquility to it, as if he's trying to sound nonchalant about it. I wonder if they don't want to call attention to themselves. I feel sorry for them if that's the case—they might as well have announced their arrival in national television.

"Granny's Bed & Breakfast is just up the road," Ruby happily provides. She gives them that wicked grin she's known for. Of course she's glad to have them stay at Granny's—that's where she lives so she'll get to see them on a daily basis for as long as they stick around. "Another two blocks that way."

Talk about second intentions...

"Thanks," says the dark-green-eyed stranger. I notice he is still looking at me and I blush a little. Thank God is nighttime so he might not notice my embarrassment. The newcomers turn their bikes around, ready to go their merry way, when something urges me forward.

"Wait!" I call, not sure where my courage is coming from. "We didn't catch your names."

The larger boy looks over his shoulder and answers with a grin: "That's because we didn't give it." And they disappeared into the night without further explanation.

"Wow," Ruby breathes. I think she might be hyperventilating.

"Strangers don't come to Storybrooke," I mutter to myself, frowning. I mean, other than Lily that has never happened. People just don't wander here—something prevents them from finding this place.

Ashley and Ruby give me a funny look. "I'm going home," I decide wishing them a goodnight and starting to make my way back to the mayor's house. When people start looking at me like I don't make sense is when it's time to remove myself.

Of course Regina is waiting up for me when I arrive. Nothing gives her a good night's sleep like yelling at me before bed. But tonight, I barely hear her bickering. My mind is far away.

I want to know what those strangers are doing here. Does it mean something? Or is their presence fleeting, a teasing of sorts, like Lily's, showing me what's out there and then yanking it away just as I start to get attached?

I am sent to bed and gladly obey. I practically run upstairs and I cross my room in just a few strides to the window seat from where I look at the great clock tower on the horizon.

Certain as the sunrise, and for the first time in sixteen years, the needle moves.

* * *

Next morning, while I am getting ready for school, I hear the grinding noise of a motorcycle, too close to be anywhere but in front of my house. I run back to the window seat. There he is, yes, the dark-green-eyed stranger, looking up directly at me like he knew the noise would get my attention. I dash from my bedroom, through the corridor, down the stairs, across the foyer and out the front door, demanding to know what the hell he thinks he's doing here at this hour.

He climbs off of his bike, slowly, as if the short, blonde, angry teenager isn't a real threat to him. Calmly he pulls a screwdriver from his jacket pocket, knees on the asphalt and starts tinkering with something under his transportation. "Hey, blondie," he says without even glancing at me. "Just fixing my bike."

"You were not," I say, a little too defensively. "You were watching me."

That makes him look at me, a dark eyebrow slightly raised. "Someone has a big sense of her own importance."

I feel my cheeks coloring. "Shut up," I say quickly. "That's not what I meant. What are you doing in Storybrooke?"

"Just visiting," he answers convincingly, but his eyes are no longer on my face.

"That doesn't happen," I accidentally say aloud. He looks at me again, unresponsive, and I decide to change tactics. I point to a wooden box that's tied to his motorcycle, something I had not noticed until now. "What is that?"

"A box."

I grit my teeth. My hand is itching to slap that arrogant tone off his voice. He is utterly annoying and something tells me he's doing it on purpose to frustrate me. Confident, black-haired, easy-smile jerk. I decide I don't like him one bit.

"And what's inside the box?" I ask, making a big show of pretending to be calm.

"Something me and my friend need to do," he says as he brings himself up and puts the screwdriver back in his pocket.

"Didn't you say you were just visiting?"

"Doesn't mean we don't have something to do." He mounts his bike and gives it a start, just as Regina is coming out of the front door. She is already giving us her control-freak-stare. She calls my name. "You better go," the stranger says in what I classify as a patronizing tone of voice. I'm about to give a salty retort when he adds, in a much more natural tone: "Be prepared."

The warning makes me shiver like someone just poured cold water over me. I have no reply for that. I don't even hear Regina marching towards me until the woman is standing right in front of me. Luckily, the stranger has left.

"Who was that?" Regina demands, but she sounds different. Puzzled. I shrug. "He was talking to you."

"I never got his name," I admit, now feeling stupid for not having asked. I look at my mother. She seems concerned. "What's wrong?"

Regina glances down the street where the stranger has disappeared. "I don't know. He looks familiar."

"Hmmm. Maybe he was one of the victims in your path of destruction, mom," I jeer. She doesn't like that, but seems indisposed to argue.

"Stay away from him, Hannah," she tells me with firm, cold eyes.

"Why would I do that?"

"You'll do that because I told you to," she answers impatiently, and then Madam Mayor is off to terrorize the neighborhood.

* * *

Ruby, Ashley and I are having breakfast at Granny's as it's our custom. Ashley is a little down in the dumps which isn't her usual self. She is always so hopeful, so faithful. In fact, as I look around watching the known faces of Storybrooke I notice that everyone seems in a different mood today. They wear different clothes, talk about different subjects, try different food.

"Last night I felt contractions," Ashley says, breaking me of my reverie, when Ruby inquires to her well-being, "and Dr. Whale said the baby could come any day now."

I don't know much about babies, but I find that Ashley doesn't look as excited to give birth (after years of gestation) as one would expect. I know it's hard for her—being eighteen and pregnant—but as far as I know, babies are supposed to make your life better, not make you miserable. I wouldn't be so concerned if I were her, though, because her baby won't be born any day. Storybrooke won't let it.

"That's a good thing, right?" I try to lift her spirits. "You'll finally meet him or her." And I give her an encouraging smile.

That has the contrary effect I'm hoping for. Ashley's blue eyes fill with tears and she holds her breath as to not sob. Ruby puts an arm around her shoulders. "What is it, Ash? Don't cry."

"It's just…" Ashley gulps. "When the baby comes…" She shakes her head, unable to control her emotions. "No one thinks that I can do this. No one thinks I can do anything."

That hits home. I know very well how that feels. No one thinks I can do anything either.

"And maybe they're right…" Ashley lets out a sigh so heavy it shakes the table. "Maybe I'm not what's best for this baby." .

"No!" I say, a little louder than intended. "Screw that! Everyone loves to tell us what we can and can't do. But screw them. You have to do what you think it's best. It's on you. My mom once told me… She said that people are always gonna tell you who you are. And you just gotta punch back and say 'no, this is who I am'." It isn't something I do, quote Regina to people, but that is one of my good memories of my mom so I might as well cherish it.

Ruby smiles. "Yeah, Hannah's right. You want people to look at you differently? Make 'em, Ash. Show them who you are. Show them you can do this."

Ashley stares at her own hands for a long time after that. When she finally raises her eyes, her expression hides something I can't decipher. Like she is keeping something from me.

"Do you ever wonder…" Ashley stops herself, trying to choose her words carefully, I presume. "Do you ever wonder who your real parents are?" She says this softly as if she fears my reaction.

I'm used to this kind of questions by now. I get them all the time from Dr. Hopper. "The right term is biological parents," I tell her, almost automatically. "My mom, although a pain in my ass, is very much real."

"Of course. I'm sorry, Hannah. That's not what I meant," Ashley says quickly. "It's just… Well, if I give this baby away like everyone expects me to do… I don't want him or her to wonder who I am or… or why I didn't want… why I couldn't…"

"It will wonder," I say, eyes on my plate. I feel something odd inside of me and find I can't look at Ashley. I'm wondering if this is what my biological mother looked like just before she gave me away. "No matter what. It can have the greatest life and still it will wonder why you gave it away. I'm not judging you," I add, forcing my eyes to meet Ashley's horrified expression. "It's just a fact. The question is always there in the back of my mind."

I can tell this is the wrong thing to say. Ashley looks even more depressed. Ruby tries to change the subject, telling us about her misadventures with Bob, Granny's hot janitor. Ashley smiles a bit after that. My mind, however, is stuck in that unfortunate topic. Dr. Hopper brought it up a dozen times—do I really want to meet my biological parents? Of course I've always been curious, but Regina convinced me a long time ago that if someone didn't want you, they didn't deserve you wanting them. But after seeing Ashley so distraught… What if my parents had wanted me but couldn't keep me? What then? Did it change how I feel about them? Is it enough to forgive them? Do they even need forgiveness?

By night, I gather the courage to talk to Regina about it. I wait until she has finished eating to ask: "Do you know who my biological parents are?" I have the odd feeling I might have asked this question before, but I can't remember if Regina has ever given me an answer. "Did you ever meet them?"

Regina's face immediately turns sour like she has sucked on a particularly acid lemon. "No," she says briskly. "It was a close adoption. No interactions from either part." She stands up and starts gathering plates.

I need to take several deep breaths before asking my next question. "Would you… Would you help me find them if I wanted to?"

Regina drops a fork dramatically. "Why are you doing this today?"

"It's just a question," I say. "I'm curious. It's not a big deal. I'd just like to know if they—"

"They are the people who abandoned you," she finishes for me. "What difference will it make knowing their names? I'm your mother. Nothing can ever change that."

I look away so she won't see me cry. "I know, mom. I just think that it might be good for me to—"

Again, she doesn't let me speak. "Why don't you let me decide what's good for you, Hannah? That's my job." She sets the dishes inside the sink. "I'll clean this in the morning. I'm going to bed. I suggest you do the same."

* * *

Ashley doesn't show up for breakfast the next morning. She doesn't show up at work either. Nobody sees her the entire day. By 4 O'clock, I'm so worried I end up going to Ashley's house, but her stepmother says she hasn't seen Ashley since lunch. Apparently, she has packed her bags and left a little after that, which her stepmother considers a "good thing".

As I wander the streets trying to digest that, I bumped into the last person I expect to see in the sunny park of Storybrooke—Mr. Gold.

What to say about him? The guy is creepy. He has the face of an evil gecko and he always looks at me like he knows everything about me, things I'm not even aware of. Everyone is afraid of him. And worse of all: he owns the town. There is even a rumor going around saying he has more power over Storybrooke than Regina.

"Just who I was looking for," he says to me and then adds, before I can answer, "I have a proposition for you, Miss Mills. I need your help to find you little friend, Miss Boyd."

I guess we're waaaay past creepy now. Ashley has fallen off the face of the Earth and Mr. Gold, of all people, is after her? What can he possibly want with a pregnant, runaway teenager?

As if reading my mind, Mr. Gold says, "She's taken something quite valuable of mine." He keeps the accusation off his tone, trying to sound like a concerned friend. But he isn't concerned. He is a hunter going after his prey.

"Uh…" I try to step away from him. "Mr. Gold, why don't you just talk to Graham?" Graham is the sheriff of Storybrooke. If something has really been stolen from Mr. Gold, he would press charges, wouldn't he?

"Because uh…" he hesitates, measuring his next words "She's a confused young woman and she's pregnant. Alone. Scared. I don't have to tell you this, Miss Mills." He makes a pained expression that doesn't fool me one bit. "I don't want to ruin your friend's life. I just want my property returned."

This is getting weirder and weirder. "What is it?" I ask, frowning.

"Well, one of the advantages of you not being the police is discretion, Miss Mills," he says, his face contorting in a creepy smile (if you can call it that). "Let's just say it's a precious object and leave it at that. You're friends with Miss Boyd. Find her. Convince her to return what's mine and I won't press charges. See, she hurt me physically." He pulls his hair backwards so I can see a faint bruise on his forehead. "She could end up in big trouble."

That is crazy talk. Ashley can't have done that; she wouldn't hurt a fly. Yet he has physical evidence to support his claim. "When did that happen?" I gesture to the bruise.

"Last night," he tells me. "She broke into my store and attacked me. She was rambling about changing her life? It is so unlike her. Miss Mills, please, help me find her. She must've said something to you. Where she was going? Why?"

"No," I say, disappointed at myself. I can't help thinking that if Ashley neglected to tell me something is because I didn't make myself available to her. "She didn't tell me anything. But I'll look for her. Leave it to me, Mr. Gold."

He tries another smile (I wish he wouldn't, it doesn't make him any less bizarre). "Great. Send my regards to your mother. And good luck."

As soon as he is out of sight, I rush to the first place that comes to mind—Sean's house. Luckily—as Gold has wished me—Sean is the one who answers the door. "Hannah!" he exclaims, looking frightened. "What—What are you doing here? Did something happen?"

He must think his baby has been born or something, the poor bastard. "Actually, yes," I say, unsympathetically. "Something did. Ashley… She's gone. She's in trouble. I thought maybe she came to see you—"

"My son doesn't have anything to do with that girl anymore," a harsh voice says from inside the house. Mr. Herman appears behind his son in the hallway looking unfriendly. "Whatever trouble she's in, I'm sorry for, but there's nothing we can do to help."

I make a face. I really don't like this man. I'm pretty sure he is the reason Sean has broken up with Ashley in the first place. Well, him and Sean's lack of guts.

"Dad…" Sean starts to say. "Maybe we should help her look."

"It's a waste, son."

"If you want to help me, I'd appreciate it," I tell Sean. "If that's what you want. Stop letting other people make decisions for you. If Ashley runs away with this baby, she's gonna be in some serious trouble."

"She's—She's running away with the baby?" A glimmer of something crosses his eyes—something I can't identify, but it gives me hope for Sean.

"Yes."

"Sean." Mr. Herman puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. "Inside. Now."

After a brief moment of hesitation, in which I speculate as to what his reaction will be, Sean makes the weak choice again and does as he father orders him. I roll my eyes. Boys can be pretty pathetic.

Mr. Herman stares at me, arms crossed over his chest. "If I knew where she was, I would tell you, Miss Mills. You know that. I went to a lot of trouble to get her that deal."

I blink, confused. "Deal?" I repeat, the word sounding strangely forbearing. "What deal?"

"You don't know?" It's Mr. Herman's turn to frown. "Ashley agreed to give up the child and she's being paid very well to do so."

"She sold the baby?" I feel something awful clawing in my stomach. So that's what Ashley is keeping from me. She knows how upset I'd be.

"Oh, you make it sound so crass," Mr. Herman says. "I found someone who's going to find that child a good and proper home."

"And who are you to judge whether Ashley is capable of providing that?" I snap. There is a ringing in my ears.

"Just look at her—a teenager!" he scoffs. "She's never shown any evidence of being responsible. That's how she got pregnant. How could she possibly know how to be a mother?"

"You don't need much to be a mother," I say, although, I guess, I don't know anything about it.

"You say that because you aren't one, Miss Mills," Mr. Herman echoes my thoughts. "And when it comes to that, you've had a pretty good one that can give you anything you want. I found someone who's going to pay Ashley extremely well, someone who's going to see to it that everybody's happy."

"Except Ashley."

Suddenly it all becomes clear to me. The person who is behind all of this—Mr. Gold. I understand now the seriousness of Ashley's troubles.

They are great indeed.

For nobody has ever broken a deal with Mr. Gold before. Nobody.

* * *

I run all the way to Granny's looking for Ruby. I find her right away, waiting on some tables. I grab her by the arm (Hey!—Ouch!—Hannah!) and push her behind the counter.

"What the hell—?"

"Why didn't you tell me Ashley sold the baby?" I demand. The people in the nearest tables turn their necks to look at us.

"Shhh!" says Ruby. "You can't go around shouting these things, Hannah."

"So you knew," I accuse. I already suspected that she would, but it still hurts me a little bit to have been left out. "She told you and not me."

Ruby has the grace to look apologetic. "It's nothing personal, Hannah," she says. "Just that… Well, you're the mayor's daughter. And, uh, with you being adopted and all… She just didn't want you to think less of her."

"I would never do that!" I shout. More people look our way. I make an effort to lower my voice. "I'm trying to help her, Ruby. Do you have any idea… She can't handle Gold on her own."

Ruby sighs. "Trust me, I know." Ruby considers me for a moment before deciding to tell me what she knows. "She left town, alright? Said she was gonna try Boston. Thought she could disappear there. And just so you know, this is all because of you, okay, Hannah? Everything you told her yesterday? She wants to keep her baby now."

Inhale. Exhale. First things first. "How long ago did she leave?"

"A few hours maybe. I don't know. But if she thinks this is best who are we to—"

"No!" I shout. "She can't leave town. Nobody can. Bad things happen when we try, Ruby. We have to stop her before she gets hurt."

Ruby looks at me like I'm a lunatic, but agrees to come with me. She grabs her car keys and we are off. Ruby drives fast, way over the limit. When we reach the town line, we catch sight of Ashley's rented car by the side of the road.

"I told you!" I cry. "Bad things happen when we try to leave!"

Ruby steps on the break. I almost throw myself out of the car. Ashley is sitting on the grass, a little farther from the road, looking like she is in a lot of pain. She must have crawled all the way there after she crashed the car. From the look of things, she's—

"My baby," Ashley sobs, rubbing her stomach. Her next words don't make any sense to me. "It's coming."

Ruby and I half-carry, half-drag Ashley to the car. On the ride back, Ashley shouts, cries and moans, which only increases my anxieties. I don't understand what is going on. She has been pregnant for almost two decades. Why would she have the baby today? Why now? What has changed?

The answer comes to me almost immediately. The two newcomers. The clock tower. It is all connected, it has to be. If the clock tower moved—it must mean that time has finally started to move forward. Which means today is the first original, unexpected day we have. Which means from now on people are acting of their own volition. Which means… everything is changing.

"I can't go back there!" Ashley shouts between intakes of breath. "Girls, please, take me to Boston! I can't—"

"We don't have four hours to get to Boston!" Ruby says. "Your baby won't wait!"

"I can't go back there," Ashley keeps saying. "He's going to take my baby!"

"I won't let that happen," I promise her, knowing that I'm way in over my head. I look at my friend and I see that shadow of what might've been my own mother fighting to keep me with her, and I know that I will do whatever it takes to help Ashley keep her baby. "But you have to know what you're asking for, alright?" I say. "If you keep this baby, are you really ready?"

Ashley looks just as certain as I feel. "Yes," she says. "I want my baby."

And so it is decided.

Ashley gives birth to a healthy 6-pound girl. Ruby holds her hand the entire time. When I go to get Ashley some water, I find Mr. Gold waiting for me in the waiting area.

"Why didn't you tell me you were after her baby?" I ask wondering if my mom will understand if I kick Mr. Gold in the shins.

He doesn't seem affected by my accusation. "You know your friend," he half-shrugs. "The hard life she's got. Surely the situation must make sense to you of all people, Miss Mills. You are well aware of the good life adopted children can have."

I feel my heart beating in my ears. The nerve of the man! Maybe if I kick his walking stick he will fall face-first on the ground. "You're not getting that kid," I say. "It's not yours."

"We have an agreement," he says ominously, "and my agreements are always honored. If not, I'm going to have to involve the police and that baby is going to end up in the system. That's an experience you've never had, thankfully for you, Miss Mills."

I gulp. I don't like his tone. I don't like him—not one bit.

"Then make a deal with me," I offer, my tongue seeming to have a life of its own. I have no control over my next words. "Ashley gets to keep her baby. I'll do whatever you want."

For whatever reason, Mr. Gold seems very interested in my offer. His eyes widen and he gives me such a genuine smile he barely looks like the same person from seconds ago. It is as if me owing him something is extremely valuable, as if I can accomplish great things for him. He sees great profit coming from this.

"Deal," he says.

I feel my fate being sealed and I wonder if I have just made a grave mistake.


	3. Book of Stories

The book doesn't look special. Yellow pages marked with time. Brown leather hardcover. Golden letters for the title. It is exactly what you would expect from a fairytale book. The first time I open it, I'm expecting the stories we all come to know: Snow White, Cinderella, Rumpelstiltskin, Pinocchio, etc. But after reading a bit of it, I realize the stories are different. Quite different. Similar to the ones Ms. Blanchard used to make up for me.

They mostly follow the adventures of Snow White and Prince Charming throughout an magical land called the Enchanted Forest, but there are points where every character collides with each other. It tells of Snow White's childhood, how she stumbled upon a secret she couldn't keep and the consequences that came from that. It generated a hatred between her and her stepmother, the Evil Queen, from which neither one of them could ever escape. That sort of dictates where the stories go. It's heartbreaking what happened to the Evil Queen's lover, a stable boy named Daniel, but I don't think Snow White should be blamed for that. If anything, it was the Evil Queen's mother's fault and no one else's. But at this point, the story kind of follows the original: the Evil Queen poisoning the apple and Snow White falling into a slumber, only waking up when Prince Charming gave her a true love's kiss.

There is a bit about Prince Charming as well, how he was born to a poor peasant mother, he and his twin, who was sold to a King who couldn't have children. The twin died, however, and Charming had to go take his place in court. It's around this time that he met Snow White. She was a wanted thief then, and was actually trying to steal his engagement ring. I can't help thinking Snow White is a badass in this book. She and Prince Charming don't need to spend much time together to know they were made for one another.

Which brings me to the strange feelings _I'm_ experiencing.

See, the book didn't come from outer space, no. The new boy gave it to me. I've always had a thing for fairytales, but obviously I can't understand how he could've known that.

It happened like this: I found him in a park bench in the middle of the night. The book rested on the bench beside him full of promises of mysteries waiting to be unfold. Seeing him there, doing nothing specific, yet looking quite entertained, I couldn't help myself and I had to go see what he was doing.

"It's awfully frustrating not knowing, isn't it?" he teased me when I questioned him. "And to meet someone you know nothing about. Do you realize that it's like that for everyone, everywhere, all the time?"

His enigmatic answer held me on the spot. He was right. It is odd for me not knowing who he is and what he could be doing in Storybrooke. It is… intoxicating. Yes, that's the right word for it. It gives me a great need to discover more, similar to what I felt with Lily, but stronger.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, trying to brush it off, but I don't think he bought it. "I was just wondering what you're doing here. Is that not normal?"

"You're gonna have to wait," he told me, dark-green eyes sparkling. "You're gonna have to wait a long time and watch me go around, headed to strange and mysterious locations. And with each passing moment, the mystery will become more tantalizing. Your imagination will inflame, but so will your frustration, never knowing, only guessing what I could possibly be doing in your hometown."

I held my breath as he spoke. How can he have this effect on me? He doesn't know me any more than I know him. But his eyes keep an intense gleam as he watches me like he can see right into my soul and that makes me nervous.

Like he can tell what is going on inside my head. Like maybe he's been made for me.

He leaned toward me and said, very softly: "Or you could go out with me sometime and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Just remembering makes me shiver. I can't quite believe that has actually happened, that he's said that to me. I felt like I had missed a part of the conversation. "You wanna go out with me?" I repeated, surprised.

He didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"When?"

"Sometime."

"Tomorrow?"

That made him grin. "No disrespect, but you're not ready yet. You must read the book first." And that's when he gave me the heavy brown book called _Once Upon A Time._ This is just like him (I remember thinking) asking me out on a date and giving me homework. I don't know what came over me when I said yes.

Actually… maybe I do know. I guess I try to play it cool, to be more like Regina, but deep down I know I'm a hopeless romantic. That must come from my biological mother instead.

I can't tell if I'm so interested because I find him attractive or if I'm attracted because he's so interesting and must have the answers I seek. I'm not sure it makes much of a difference. But now that the days are new and unexpected, I feel alive with the endless possibilities. And he, being the one who brought change to town, has to be the one I've been waiting for, the only one for me.

There are other compelling characters in the book as well. Red Riding Hood is a shapeshifting wolf-girl that needs her red cloak to stop her from changing—that's a twist I never saw coming. Oh and one of Snow White's dwarfs, Grumpy, also has an intriguing past. Apparently, he used to be called Dreamy and was in love with a fairy called Nova, but the other fairies and dwarfs didn't think they should be together and separated them. Brokenhearted, he became brooding and grumpy.

There's _Beauty and the Beast_ in here too, except this one is told from the perspective of Rumpelstiltskin which is another surprised to me. As ruthless and mean as he is, he came to truly care for the little maid (who used to be a princess before he imprisoned her) called Belle, who loved him in return, but he simply couldn't believe that anyone could love a monster like him. I guess that when it comes to it, we're the only ones standing in the way of our own happy endings.

Thinking I might be getting too involved, too fast, I close the book.

* * *

Ms. Blanchard (in an obvious attempt to bring out the best in us) has invited the high schoolers to visit the hospital because of some volunteer outreach program she has come up with. I guess we are supposed to give up on one of our summer days to dedicate ourselves to the less fortunate. I don't really mind—there's nothing to do in Storybrooke in summer—and besides, I always enjoy spending time with Ms. Blanchard even if it is in a hospital with sick people.

We are put in charge of helping the nurses change sheets and supply fresh flowers to the patients' rooms. It isn't as boring as it sounds; the nurses have some funny stories to tell and the patients who are awake to receive their flowers smile so brightly it makes the whole thing worth its while. Some of them have family over for visits and they too look pretty happy to see us here.

One guy, in the farthest room, catches my attention. There isn't anything special about him, much the contrary—it is the fact that he is completely alone that bothers me. He is a Joe Doe—I ask around and nobody knows where he comes from or how he ended up in a coma. He is another one of the mysteries that are popping up since the newcomers arrival.

The weird thing is… he looks a lot like the illustration of Prince Charming from my new book. I'm not usually this imaginative, but the resemblance is uncanny. I can't look away. Upon closer inspection, I find that he even has the same scar as Prince Charming. And maybe something about his face is familiar to me for some other reason…? I can't quite put my finger on it, but he reminds of… of…

"Hannah?"

I jump. Ms. Blanchard gave me a fright sneaking up on me like that. She is looking so pretty today, for some reason; I think her ebony hair is shorter, her lips are painted red as blood and her skin is looking white as… as snow?

Knowing where my mind is going with that, I give it a shake, trying to clear it. "Sorry," I say. "Did I wander off?"

"We could really use your help with the decorations," Ms. Blanchard says with a smile, "if you're not doing anything." It sounds like a question. She is intrigued by me being here.

I must have missed the briefing Ms. Blanchard gave out there because I can't think of whatever it is that needs to be decorated. I decide to play while I have the cards in my hand. "Do you know who this man is, Ms. Blanchard?" I ask. "Does anyone know him?"

"No," she says with a frown, sounding puzzled, like maybe she's trying to remember something about him. "I read to him sometimes, you know? I fear he might be lonely. Nobody should be… You could read to him, too, if you want, Hannah."

I think about the impressions I'm having of Prince Charming and Snow White and wonder if it's a normal thing to read to a coma patient. I can't quite relate the two things. "What's wrong with him?"

"Oh, I don't know," Ms. Blanchard says, voice kind. "He's been like this as long as I've been volunteering." A sad look crosses her pretty face and I know it isn't because of who Joe Doe might or might not be, or because the connection between Snow White and her prince. This is something entirely her own—an empathy she feels for all beings.

I envy her a lot, I guess. She is so pretty and kind. Good at everything she does. Delicate like a princess. Voice like a nightingale. A smile impossible to replicate. Everybody likes her, everywhere she goes. Nobody would ever think she's crazy. No parents would've given her away. I don't think she's much older than me either—nine, maybe ten years at most. Of course she has been like this for as long as I can remember, another victim of the time curse over our heads.

I wish I could be more like Ms. Blanchard and Snow White.

When volunteering day is over, Ruby and I leave the hospital agreeing that what we both need is a big plate of pancakes. We head down toward Granny's when my strange new friend makes another appearance. He looks even better in this afternoon light, his intense dark-green eyes sparkling, his bright easy smile and the leather jacket that fits him to perfection.

"I've been meaning to bump into you," he says agreeably, eyes searching my face for something I can't begin to guess. "Matter of fact, I was hoping you might want to hang out with me."

Ruby gives me a very distinguished nudge. I try to ignore her. "Is that you asking me out?" I ask. "Finally?"

His shoulders contract slightly as if bothered by the way I phrased that. "Well, if putting a label on it makes you more comfortable, sure," he says. "Let's call it a date."

I'm not sure what to make of that. He sounded interested before, but now he seems to be putting the brakes down. "My mom taught me not to go out with guys who won't tell me their names," I say, playing for time and also because it's past time he tells me. "It weeds out the ones who like to keep secrets, she says, like storing body parts in their freezers." When he doesn't answer, I feel my temper rising. I can't believe he doesn't want to tell me something as basic as his name.

I try to walk past him, in no mood for his games, but he holds me by the arm. Somehow he manages to do that in a delicate and firm way.

"Rider," he says, letting me go. "Flynn Rider."

That almost makes me roll my eyes—even his name is cool.

"So there goes your reason for not going out with me. Hop on," he gestures to his bike which is parked a few feet from where we stand.

It is my turn to hesitate. "You want me to get on the back of that bike?" I scoff.

"That's what 'hop on' means."

"Uh… How about we walk?" I suggest. I am perfectly aware of the amount of witnesses around that will gladly tell my mother about this, should I choose to ride this boy's bike. Regina will flip, bite my head off.

"How about a leap of faith?" When Flynn smiles, it takes my breath away. I can hardly remember the reasons for my reluctance. "Come on, hop on," he insists.

"If you don't, I will," Ruby says, pouting her lips.

Flynn Rider is still grinning and I know I won't say no even if I wanted to. I take the helmet he is offering me and follow him to the motorcycle. The entire time he drives, I feel electrically aware of the touch of his leather jacket against my skin. It is a good feeling—one that I wish would've lasted longer.

However, the bike comes to a stop in a clearing, near the woods, where there is an abandoned well in which I used to play when I was little. It's been years since I've been here last. Once more I'm left wondering how the hell he could've know about this. The answer, obviously, is he didn't. This must all be a coincidence.

"This is where you planned to bring me?" I tease, approaching the well, trying to calm my absurd feelings.

He moves with ease around me like he has not a worry in the world. He is ultra-confident, charming, witted, good-looking. I'm in awe of him. "Is that bad?" He has to repeat the question at least two more times for it to enter my bewitched brain.

"I don't know," I say with honesty. "I thought dates were supposed to be… with candlelight and champagne."

That amuses him. "You want me to get you drunk?" he provokes me.

"No." I answer it a little too quickly. He seems to like that, too.

"Maybe next time," he says.

"Oh, you _are_ optimistic."

The sky is turning a bright shade of violet. I watch as Flynn rounds the well. Why in the world would he bring me here? What could this place mean to him?

"They say this well is special," he says, again, like he can read what's in my mind. "There's even a legend about it."

"I know," I say, gathering enough courage to stand right beside him. "They said that the water from the well is fed by an underground lake which has magical properties, blah blah blah." I cross my arms over my chest to show how very unimpressive that is to me.

"So this legend," he goes on, ignoring my cynical attitude, "says that if you drink the water from the well, something lost will be returned to you."

"You know an awful lot about this town for being a stranger."

"And you know very little for someone who grew up here."

"I know literally everything about Storybrooke." I don't know why I'm defending myself to him. He can be quite arrogant when he wants to. "The little there is to know, I mean. And for a place filled with legends about magic, here is where people look down on you if you believe in any of it."

"What do you believe in?" With a hand over the well, he leans toward me disrupting my focus.

"I—I don't believe in magic, if that's what you mean." The lie sounds _almost_ like a plausible truth this time. Dr. Hopper has been trying to convince me of that for years.

"Water is a very powerful thing," Flynn says and somehow he manages to make it sound like a normal conversation between couples. "Cultures as old as time have worshiped it. It flows throughout all lands, connecting the entire world. If anything has mystical properties, if anything have magic, well, I'd say it'd be water."

He stops, waiting, assessing my response.

For the first time in his presence, I feel a little on edge. I guess part of me is afraid that he might be joking with me. Sometimes it feels like a test—one that I'm destined to fail because, underneath all the pretense, I am the crazy girl who thinks her hometown is cursed.

"That's asking a lot to believe on faith," I answer carefully.

He's still watching me. "If you need evidence for everything, Hannah, you're gonna find yourself stuck in this place for a very long time." His voice is soft, low, accusing, and I don't like the sound of it. I already feel stuck in Storybrooke. I don't need him condemning me.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He changes the subject. "Did you read the book?"

"Yes. And you didn't answer my question."

"Did you read all of it?"

"Of course not. It's huge—over a thousand pages."

He sighs. "Then you didn't get to the part where you come in." He's upset now, but I can't tell if it's directed at me. "This won't do, Hannah. You need to read the whole thing."

"Uh, you lost me."

"Not for long. The answers you seek are there," he tells me. "You just have to believe it."

The logical part of my brain tells me this getting out of hand. "You need to take me back now," I say. "I wanna go home."

Flynn looks lost in thoughts. He stares into the well. "Would you believe me if I told you there is a curse in this town?"

My heart almost leaps out of my chest. "Yes!" I shout, breathlessly. "That's what I've been saying for sixteen years! I mean, until you got here, you and your friend, that is, time was frozen. I was the only one getting older and… they lived the same day every day like it was normal. And nobody can leave because something… something prevents them—us. I don't know what but…" I stop myself, afraid I might have said too much. Next thing he will call me crazy and leave me here in the woods by myself.

Flynn's face has changed. There is a gleam in his eyes like I've said exactly what he wanted to hear from me. "Yes," he agrees. "Exactly that."

"You believe me?" Without realizing, I take one of his hands. I feel so utterly connected to him right now—maybe because we are the only two people in this world who knows about the curse. I never had someone with whom I could be honest about this, not even Ms. Blanchard (not that I think she would judge me or anything, but I guess I didn't want to put her in that position). It is such a relief—it is a dream come true. "Wait. How do you know about the curse?"

"Oh, I've known about it for a while now," he says dismissively. "But that's not everything, Hannah. You see," he squeezes my hand before saying, "every story in the book I gave you has actually happened."

I wait for the punchline but it never comes. I let go of his hand and take a step back. "So we're back on that," I mutter, thoughtful.

"If you had actually read the book, this conversation would be easier," he says.

"I read the—"

"Maybe you did, but you weren't looking, Hannah." His voice turns passionate, urgent. "You need to open your eyes. You need to see the truth. You need to see _them_."

The way he says that, with such emphasis, makes me think of the impressions left on me today by Joe Doe and Ms. Blanchard, how I couldn't help but compare them to the characters in the book. I wonder if that's what Flynn wants me to do.

"The Evil Queen cast a curse," he persists. "She sent everyone from the Enchanted Forest here, to this world without magic. And now they're trapped—"

"—frozen in time and stuck in Storybrooke, Maine." My voice sounds cold, detached. I can't think straight.

"None of them remembers who they are. That's where you come in," he steps in front of me. "You must make them remember, Hannah. You have to break the curse. You're the only one who can."

I feel something hot streaming down my face. When did I start crying? I don't know. I also can't tell if these are tears of relief or shame. Relief that someone has finally believed me or shame because I'm well aware this can't be happening, this can't be real. Maybe I'm having an episode or something. Maybe Flynn never took me out today. Maybe I should call Dr. Hopper.

"Please, take me home," I ask him and I sound so tired, so wounded, that he doesn't argue.

* * *

I desperately need someone to talk to, so I go look for Ms. Blanchard. She isn't home which, I guess, I should've expected. She is a teacher, not a nun; she obviously goes out from time to time. After aimlessly wandering around for a while, I end up in the hospital without a clue as to how I got here. I feel like something is pulling me, calling to me. I remember what Ms. Blanchard has said about how she often comes here to read to Joe Doe and how I am welcome to do the same. Maybe I should. Maybe that's what got me here.

Inside, I find a commotion near where his room is.

"What's going on?" I run towards it, my previous troubles completely forgotten.

Ms. Blanchard is here, along with the Sheriff, Dr. Whale and, unfortunately for me, the Mayor.

"Is he alright?" I ask, my eyes on Ms. Blanchard, who gives me a slight shake of her head.

"He's missing," she informs me.

I'm not entirely sure I heard her correctly. "Missing?" I say. "How can he be missing? He was in a coma yesterday."

"I came to read to him last night," Ms. Blanchard explains. "I don't know why, I just thought... This time, it was like…" She can't finish her sentence.

"What?" I urge her on.

Ms. Blanchard's eyes lock on mine. "It was like he heard me," she whispers. "He touched my hand." She has a strange dreamy look in her face. "And now he's gone."

Regina comes toward us. "What are you doing here, Hannah?"

"What happened to Joe Doe?" I ask her, ignoring her question. "Did someone take him?"

Sheriff Graham's the one who answers. "We don't know yet. His I.V.s were ripped out, but there's no sign for sure there was a struggle."

"Will he be okay?" Ms. Blanchard asks Dr. Whale.

"Okay?" he says. "The man's been on feeding tubes for years, under constant supervision. He needs to get back here right away or, quite honestly, 'okay' might be a pipe dream."

"Well then, let's start looking," I tell them. "We can't leave him to—"

"That's what we're doing," my mother cuts in. "Just stay out of this, dear." She turns to the Sheriff. "Graham, find Joe Doe. You heard Dr. Whale. Time is precious. Hannah, I'll see you at home. Don't be late." And then she is off like she has bigger concerns to worry herself with.

There is a moment of silence before Graham turns to Whale. "Doctor, how long between your rounds since you last saw him?"

"12 hours or so."

"Then that's what we need to account for."

With Ms. Blanchard and I following him around, Graham goes to the security room where we watch the recording of Joe Doe leaving the hospital on his own. That is good, I think. At least he hasn't been abducted. If he is awake, it means he doesn't need medical supervision. That must be good news.

The bad news is that he has left the hospital toward the woods.

After some begging and some nagging, the Sheriff allows both Ms. Blanchard and I to go with him as he looks for Joe Doe. Graham has always been nice to me, probably because of my mother. We search the woods until nightfall, following some track only Graham can see. He stops then, saying the trail has ended and that there is nowhere else to go from here.

I glance around. We are near the troll bridge. Mind racing, I think about the fairytale book and how Prince Charming and Snow White fell in love in a troll bridge. Could that be another coincidence or is this what Flynn referred to when he said I need to open my eyes and see things as they are? Why else would Joe Doe be searching for that place? Isn't a crazy explanation better than no explanation?

This whole thing is giving me a headache. Everything that Flynn has told me… Actually, it isn't the things he's told me. These things I've known—I've lived it. What bothers me is the fact that he knows them—he, a newcomer, someone who isn't affected by the curse. How can he know? Unless… Unless it's the book. If the book tells the story of the curse, Flynn might have learned it from there. I just have to find out where he got the book from.

Now, let's say I accept that, the book is magical and it tells everything that happened to the point where everyone was cursed. What then? Does it automatically mean that Joe Doe is Prince Charming? And if it does... what the hell is he expecting to find?

The answer hits me like a ton of bricks. My eyes fall on the woman beside me. Snow White. Of course. She was reading to him. Time moved forward. He woke up and went after some memory, some dream that connects him to his old self.

The crazy part is how much sense it all makes.

"I know where he is," I tell the others. Two curious pairs of eyes fall on me, but I have no time to explain. I bolt. I can feel them on my trail, but I don't slow down until I reach the bridge.

I come to a halt. There he is—unconscious, near the water. I'm not sure what to feel at that discovery. The book has led me here as much as it has led him. But I don't believe in the book. Do I?

"Oh my God!" Ms. Blanchard exclaims when she catches up to me.

The Sheriff has his radio. "I need an ambulance at the old troll bridge as soon as possible." He and Ms. Blanchard cross the little stream to where Joe Doe lies. They pull him out of the water onto the shore.

I feel as if I'm watching a movie unfold in front of me. When they get him down again, Ms. Blanchard knees beside Joe Doe, her hands cupping his face.

"I found you," she whispers to him. Or did she? I might have imagined it. "It's gonna be okay. Come back to me." She leans over and her lips touch his as she tries to give him a mouth-to-mouth.

Next thing he starts coughing and spluttering. Their eyes meet and he says his first words: "You saved me."

 ** _Did you ever doubt I would?_**

Voices in my head… Yep. I'm finally losing it.

Now that he is awake, Ms. Blanchard seems more like herself and less of a character from a book. She asks him who he is, but Joe Doe says he doesn't know. He looks confused and lost. We can hear the ambulance sirens in the distance now. Ms. Blanchard assures him he is going to be okay and, for whatever reason, that is enough for him. He believes her.

Why can't I?

* * *

Things aren't so nice after that. Soon after we reach the hospital, Regina shows up again, this time accompanied by a strange woman, Kathryn Nolan, claiming to be Joe Doe's wife. His name is David Nolan, she informs us, and they have had a fight a couple of years ago and, as far as Kathryn is concerned, he disappeared on her. She is glad to know now that he hasn't done that on purpose.

The disappointment I see both in Joe Doe and Ms. Blanchard's face, again makes me wonder if I am imagining things. Why should they care unless they are Prince Charming and Snow White? Why else would it look like they are connected somehow? It hardens my belief.

When it comes to impossible things, curses and soul mates is something I can definitely see happening. Now lies… That really grind my gears. I mean, this wife of his can't be telling the truth. David Nolan has been in a coma for almost two decades. It hasn't been just a couple of years. Unless they can't be aware of that, just as they aren't aware they have been frozen in time.

"It's something of a miracle, really," Dr. Whale tells us. "Physically, he's on the mend. Um, his memory is another issue. It may take time, if at all."

"But," Ms. Blanchard ventures, "what brought him back?"

"That's the thing," Whale says. "There's no explanation. Something just clicked in him. He woke up and he was delirious, and… his first instinct was to go find something, I guess."

"Someone," I correct him, unaware I'm thinking aloud.

Ms. Blanchard catches my eye and I can tell that, even if she doesn't understand what happened here tonight, she can feel it, the heavy truth of my words.

"Hannah, let's go," Regina calls me. As I follow her down the hospital's empty halls, she adds: "I had hoped you would look more pleased. True love won out. If it wasn't for you finding him—and me finding her—they would've lived their lives completely alone." She stops so she can look at me and I see, for the first time, the shadow of something malign, some bad intention underneath her words. I look over my shoulder and I can just make out the outline of Ms. Blanchard, sad and alone. I look back at my mother. Has she done this on purpose? To keep Ms. Blanchard and Joe Doe apart? Why would she…?

"Which reminds me of something oh so very important," Regina says, a smile playing on her lips.

"What?" I wonder.

"How grateful I am to have you."

I watch her attentively as words I have never heard her speak, works I have only seen in that wretched book, echo inside my mind.

 ** _You promised you'd keep my secret. You promised, but you lied. She ripped his heart out because of you! Because you couldn't listen to me! Now your body will be your tomb._**

 ** _I take that apple and you let him leave? That's the deal you want to make?_**

 ** _With all my heart._**

 ** _Then congratulations. You've won._**

Regina, the flesh and bone Regina standing in front of me, continues her speech: "Because not having someone, Hannah, that's the worst curse imaginable."


	4. The Summer Job

This time around, Regina insists that I need to get a summer job. The reasons she lists to me are the same used by other moms—hard work builds character, I have to start thinking about my future, I will learn how to value money, etc. I can tell, however, that that isn't the case. Regina thinks I have too much free time and that I will choose to spend it with the wrong crowd—and by crowd I mean Flynn Rider.

Honestly, her worries are unfundamental. I haven't seen him since he took me to the well. I confess I am avoiding him at all costs for now because I have finished the book and I am afraid of what it means. Or better saying, I am afraid of what he thinks it means.

After Prince Charming woke Snow White up from her slumber with true love's kiss, they didn't quite live happily ever after as the children's books will have us believe. Surely they were happy for awhile—Snow White even got pregnant—but the Evil Queen (who, now, in my head is sounding uncomfortably like my mother) would have none of that. She showed up to their castle uninvited to promise them a curse that would destroy their happy ending "if that is the last thing I do".

Afraid of what was coming, Snow and her prince went to see Rumplestiltskin (who they had capture a little while ago) to ask him what he knew about the curse. Rumplestiltskin told them that there was nothing anyone could do to stop the curse. He warned them of what their fate should be—a prison in time. Only one person would be able to break the curse: Snow's unborn child. If they could find a way to save the child from the curse, the child, in return, would come back, in its sixteenth birthday, to save them in return. The price for Rumplestiltskin information was the baby's name, which Snow provided him with—Odette.

The council was gathered then and the Blue Fairy provided the answer to their predicament. There was an enchanted tree which they could carve into a wardrobe so they could send baby Odette somewhere safe from the curse. There was a catch however. The tree's magic had a limit—only one could fit in there. The obvious choice was Snow White. Since the baby was inside of her, they should be sent away together, somewhere far away where Snow would raise her child until it was time to break the curse.

But that plan didn't work. The baby came early, just as the Evil Queen's soldiers were raiding the castle. A bunch of things happened, the curse was upon then, and baby Odette was born. Snow White then, thinking of the future of her people, made what must've been the hardest choice of her life. Bedridden, she asked Charming to take Odette to the wardrobe. And he did—and was stabbed and maybe killed in the process, I don't know because that's where the books abruptly ends.

I got so invested with the characters it is frustrating not knowing what happens next. I'm wondering if Flynn would have the second volume or something when I remember this is supposed to be what happens next. This entire book is a prelude to what these people, these fairytale characters, are experiencing right now. This from which someone has to save them.

That's the part which depressed me the most. Because I understand now what Flynn meant when he said I am in the book. He thinks I'm baby Odette, of course he does. I'm not stupid, I can clearly see why he would think that—I am adopted, I don't know who my parents are and I am stuck in Storybrooke just as much as everyone else. But I know I'm not that baby.

I mean, if I were… I guess I would know, wouldn't I? If I existed for one simple purpose—that is to find and save my royal parents and the rest of their court from a horrible curse, I think I would know. Maybe not in as many words as that, but if you have a higher calling, you should be able to feel it. Otherwise, how would you achieve it?

Besides, when one equals one, Snow White and Prince Charming equal Ms. Blanchard and David Nolan, if Odette equals me that would mean that they are my parents.

A nervous laugh escapes my lips. I can't believe I'm even considering the possibility. Too good to be true doesn't even begin to cover it.

* * *

Just as I suspected, Regina isn't happy about the arrangement I have with Graham. She tries to convince me that there isn't much to be done as deputy and that I will probably grow bore with it pretty fast.

"That is the beauty of a summer job," I assure her, "it isn't forever."

She starts going on about how Graham is also pretty boring and that I won't like hanging out with him so much, but I know she is just being mean at this point. I tell her off which causes Regina to grab her cellphone and call, I'm sure of it, Graham no less. She will probably demand that he terminates the contract—which I signed less than two hours ago. I hope he stays strong.

Truth is, I really rather like Graham. He is the type of guy everybody looks up to. He is good looking, he is a cop, he is nice to everyone and has a hot irish accent. It's really hard to find someone he hasn't helped once or twice around Storybrooke. And when I come to think of it, he is exactly the type of guy I'd like to work with because I think he can teach me a few things.

I think that Ms. Blanchard, on the other hand, will be excited for me. But when I meet her for coffee at Granny's, Ms. Blanchard looks so down in the dumps I don't think my good news would even be registered. "What's up with you?" I ask, although I know the answer to that before I receive it.

Ms. Blanchard tells me she's been to the hospital—more than once—to hang out with David, play hanged-man and other silly games. "Just to entertain him," she assures me, "to keep him busy." But we both know that's not entirely true. Ms. Blanchard ends up sighing heavily and telling me she can't help it, that they "understood each other".

I feel really bad for her. If she is Snow White, the Evil Queen has done a real good number on her—she couldn't be more far away from her happy ending. The man of her dreams is married to another woman. It's really not her fault how she feels. When you truly love someone, I guess not even a curse can erase how you feel.

"Oh, I am the worst person in the world," she says and she looks on the verge of tears.

Even in my sympathetic mood, I find that a little dramatic. "Really? In the whole world?"

Ms. Blanchard rolls her eyes. "Why am I even telling you this? You're a teenager. If your mother knew, she would have my head."

"She won't hear it from me."

Ms. Blanchard shoves a huge piece of pie in her mouth. She looks a sodding mess. When she is done chewing, she says: "If Kathryn was horrible, it'd be easier, but she's so… nice. It makes me feel awful."

I don't like where that is going. Cursed or not, we still live in a world that has rules, that has right and wrong. "What exactly would be easier?" I prod.

Ms. Blanchard seems to realize where her thoughts are leading her "Nothing." She shoves another piece of pie in her mouth which keeps her quiet for awhile.

I think it's time to intervene. "You know," I start, "someone very smart once told me that if you think something you wanna do is wrong… it is."

Ms. Blanchard puts down the pie. "I told you that," she says weakly.

"Yes, you did."

* * *

Just as I suspected, Regina isn't happy about the arrangement I have with Graham. She tries to convince me that there isn't much to be done as deputy and that I will probably grow bore with it pretty fast.

"That is the beauty of a summer job," I assure her, "it isn't forever."

She starts going on about how Graham is also pretty boring and that I won't like hanging out with him so much, but I know she is just being mean at this point. I tell her off which causes Regina to grab her cellphone and call, I'm sure of it, Graham no less. She will probably demand that he terminates the contract—which I signed less than two hours ago. I hope he stays strong.

Truth is, I really rather like Graham. He is the type of guy everybody looks up to. He is good looking, he is a cop, he is nice to everyone and has a hot irish accent. It's really hard to find someone he hasn't helped once or twice around Storybrooke. And when I come to think of it, he is exactly the type of guy I'd like to work with because I think he can teach me a few things.

I think that Ms. Blanchard, on the other hand, will be excited for me. But when I meet her for coffee at Granny's, Ms. Blanchard looks so down in the dumps I don't think my good news would even be registered. "What's up with you?" I ask, although I know the answer to that before I receive it.

Ms. Blanchard tells me she's been to the hospital—more than once—to hang out with David, play hanged-man and other silly games. "Just to entertain him," she assures me, "to keep him busy." But we both know that's not entirely true. Ms. Blanchard ends up sighing heavily and telling me she can't help it, that they "understood each other".

I feel really bad for her. If she is Snow White, the Evil Queen has done a real good number on her—she couldn't be more far away from her happy ending. The man of her dreams is married to another woman. It's really not her fault how she feels. When you truly love someone, I guess not even a curse can erase how you feel.

"Oh, I am the worst person in the world," she says and she looks on the verge of tears.

Even in my sympathetic mood, I find that a little dramatic. "Really? In the whole world?"

Ms. Blanchard rolls her eyes. "Why am I even telling you this? You're a teenager. If your mother knew, she would have my head."

"She won't hear it from me."

Ms. Blanchard shoves a huge piece of pie in her mouth. She looks a sodding mess. When she is done chewing, she says: "If Kathryn was horrible, it'd be easier, but she's so… nice. It makes me feel awful."

I don't like where that is going. Cursed or not, we still live in a world that has rules, that has right and wrong. "What exactly would be easier?" I prod.

Ms. Blanchard seems to realize where her thoughts are leading her "Nothing." She shoves another piece of pie in her mouth which keeps her quiet for awhile.

I think it's time to intervene. "You know," I start, "someone very smart once told me that if you think something you wanna do is wrong… it is."

Ms. Blanchard puts down the pie. "I told you that," she says weakly.

"Yes, you did."

When I leave Ms. Blanchard, three pieces of pie later, I find Flynn Rider sitting in that same park bench where I joined him that first night when he gave me the book, before everything got so complicated. He is alone again, as if he's been waiting for me to show up. Like Ms. Blanchard, I suppose I can't run forever from the one that calls to me.

"I thought you were avoiding me," he says as I approach.

"I was," I shrug. "But it's a small town."

He gives me faint smile but doesn't say anything else. I guess it's up to me to make conversation this time.

"I've finished your book, you know," I say. That peaks his interest. "I'm not in it."

Flynn sighs in frustration. "You're not ready," he says, shaking his head.

"Look, I'm just not in your book, alright? Sorry," I add. "I don't mean to shout at you. I just…"

"It's not your fault," he says, his eyes far away. "August told me that I had to tell you the truth, but that you might not be ready to hear it."

I haven't heard that name before. "August? That's your friend? The one who arrived with you?"

"We're more like… partners." He keeps his dark-green eyes on some kids that are playing by the park. "He found me. I don't know how. He knew who I was. He knew everything. He told me about the curse. He told me about you." He turns to me now. "He says that once we got you to believe, the final battle would begin."

"And you just believed him?" I frown. "Some random guy who told you about a battle?"

He gives me a charming smile. "You see the irony, don't you?"

I shake my head. "I do believe it, you know? The curse, the fairytale characters, everything. I'm just not the person you're looking for. I'm not fighting any battles."

"But you are," Flynn says and his eyes are so intense I have to look away. "You're here because it's your destiny. Snow White's daughter adopted by her greatest enemy, the Evil Queen? You think that happened by chance? You're going to bring back the happy endings—"

"Whoa. Hold on a minute." I'm gaping at him now. "You really believe that's who she is? My mother, I mean. She's the Evil Queen?"

"Have you not felt it?" he asks me. I think about the voice I heard in my head, the one that gave Snow White the apple. It definitely was Regina's voice, but I thought I was projecting it on her or something.

"And me?" I say. "I'm Snow White's daughter? The baby in the wardrobe? Ms. Blanchard's daughter?"

"Odette." The name sounds more convincing when he says it and I find myself wishing it could be true. I'd like to be that baby, I guess. Destined for greatness. Daughter of the two greatest hearts there ever was. His belief is strong enough to shake the fundamentals of my soul. And still… "You don't believe me." It isn't a question; he sees doubt in my face.

"I…" What? What is this feeling clutching at my chest? "I'm just thinking that…"

"Yes?"

"Well… I'm the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming and still I was given away? I must have the worst luck ever."

"They wanted you to have your best chance."

His words are soft, kind and so, so truthful they hurt me. It sounds like such a perfect little tale—a beautiful story about how and why I was discarded as an infant. But it's a pipe dream, isn't it? I can't break any curse. I don't have special skills.

Flynn touches my hand. "You are the savior, Hannah," he insists. "They need you."

Before I can make any sort of reply, he is touching my face and I feel something incredibly new awake inside of me. It is an odd feeling—like butterflies in my stomach. I look deep into those dark-green eyes and I see no deceit, no trace of insanity or ill will. He looks at me and he sees a savior. What does that make him? What does it make me?

In that particular moment, I decide I really don't care. It's funny really, how I got from the fantastic tales of my previous life to kissing him. My first kiss even. In a park bench, in a summer day in June.

* * *

My perfect evening gets very much ruined as I am getting home later that day, after the greatest afternoon ever when I got to show Flynn my favorite things to do in Storybrooke, and he gave me a kiss before every single one of them. But as I am rounding my house, I see Regina and Graham at the doorstep. She is saying goodbye to him. Really saying goodbye to him, like I said goodbye to Flynn a little earlier, with tongue and all.

That gives me pause. It isn't the sight of my mother kissing a man or the fact that said man is now my boss. It is that I had no idea this was happening until now. How is that possible? I always considered myself the most perceptive person in Storybrooke. How could I have missed something like this happening right under my nose?

Unless this is new. Unless they haven't been together. Unless this is something that has happened as time started to move forward again. Or even better… could the Evil Queen be seducing the Sheriff because he wants something from him? Say, like firing me for instance?

No. I refuse to believe that. She wouldn't stoop so low.

Wouldn't she? Hasn't she cursed us all?

What? No. What? Gosh, this is confusing. I don't know what to think. Half of me believes, the other half is having a hard time coping with everything.

Regina closes the door and Graham heads forward for the gate where he stops dead when he catches a glimpse of me standing there. His face turns a deep shade of purple that I haven't thought possible in adults and he starts stuttering excuses about why he is there so late at night. My mother needed help with a jar of sorts? Holy cow, I can't believe he's actually tried that.

"I saw you," I say bluntly before he can embarrass himself any further.

"Oh."

Graham shifts uncomfortably, looking up and down the street, as if afraid someone else might spot him at my house. I find that a little offensive. If he doesn't want people to know he is with Regina, why is he with Regina?

"I'm gonna go now," I tell him. "Goodnight, Graham. See you tomorrow."

"Wait!" he cries out. "Please, Hannah, let me explain."

"I don't care, Graham." I really don't know why he thinks I do. "I'd really rather not have this conversation. This is between you and my mother."

I manage to take three firm steps toward the front door before he gets in my way again.

"Can we please talk about this?" he asks and he sounds so distressed I stop to take a good look at him. There is confusion and pain in his eyes. But also something else. A want, a need, an urgency. "I need you to understand," he tells me.

I frown. The entire situation feels incredibly odd. He is an adult man—although, for the first time, in his distressed state, I can fully appreciate how very young he is—I am a teenage girl. Why does he care what I think or don't think? Why does it matter so much? From the look in his eyes, I can tell that it does.

"Why?" I ask him.

"I don't know," he confesses, gesturing wildly. "Uh, maybe so I can understand," he says. His accent's getting heavier with every word, which clearly means he's getting more and more upset.

"Graham—"

"You don't know what is like," he mutters. "I don't feel anything, Hannah. Can you understand that?" He clutches at his chest as he speaks.

"I can't. Are you saying you don't like my mother but you're sleeping with her all the same? I don't understand what you're talking about. I think you should go home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'm sorry," he says, defeated, dropping his arms at his side. "I should've told you before you took the job. I just… I didn't want you to look at me the way you are now."

"Why do you care how I look at you?"

He hesitates a moment as if he isn't quite sure of the answer to that. "You remind me of someone," he whispers. "Someone I once met… in the woods." Whatever Graham is saying obviously sound strange even to his own ears, because he is frowning as if unsure he's been the one to say them.

It is even stranger to me because the voices find me again.

 _You are here to kill me._

 _You have good instincts._

"Go home," I tell him again. "We should forget about this." I try to walk past him but, much like Flynn did by the well, Graham reaches for my arm to prevent me from moving. He isn't gentle about it though, to begin with, and then, as he touches my skin, his eyes go blank and he tightens his grip. "Graham!" I exclaim in pain, but he scarcely seems to hear me. I struggle until I finally manage to free myself from him.

Graham gasps and stumbles backwards as if I shocked him or something. He looks deranged. "Did you see that?" he whispers but I didn't see anything, I have no idea what happening to him. "That… that wolf…"

A little frightened, a little angry, I turn my back and make a run for the door before he can think of stopping me again.

* * *

I only see Graham for a second this morning when he instructs me to let Leroy out of his cell when it's time for me to leave. Marco, the handyman, and a very good friend of Dr. Hopper, has spent the entire morning at the station fixing a high cabinet that is coming out of its hinges, and whistling merry songs. Leroy looks grumpy like only he can; he's been detained by Graham again for drunk and disorderly conduct. That happens more often than any of us would like.

Marco tells me that Graham is out dealing with a couple of children that were caught stealing from. Eva and Nicholas are their names. The story interest me because nobody has ever stolen anything in Storybrooke before time started to move forward, and everything that has been unfolding after that has a secret meaning behind it. Marco says he thinks their parents must have abandoned them in the streets.

"Can't blame them," Leroy mutters from his cell. He is sitting on the bed, back against the wall and arms crossed over his chest, looking like he might as well be at home he spends so much time here anyway. "They're all brats. Who needs 'em?"

"Well, I'd give anything for one," Marco says in his heavy italian accent. "My wife and I have tried for many years, but, uh… it was not meant to be." He looks very sad when he says that. It reminds of how sad Geppetto was when Pinocchio sacrificed himself to save him from that ferocious whale, just moments before Pinocchio became a real—Marco, the handyman. Geppetto, the woodcarver.

Oh my.

"Well, cry me a river," says Leroy interrupting my reverie. A little taken aback, Marco returns to his cabinet, apparently deciding that whistling is better than talking.

When my shift ends, I let Leroy out of his cell and head out to Ms. Blanchard's loft where I find her sitting by the kitchen counter, staring at a bouquet of flowers. Roses, red. "Who sent you these?" I ask, fearing what her answer will be.

Ms. Blanchard looks ashamed. "Dr. Whale," she says as softly as she can without actually whispering.

"Why would Dr. Whale—" I stop myself when I see the look on Ms. Blanchard's face. "Oh," I say, as it dawns on me. Wow. This is new. A little gross, too. Dr. Whale is manwhore. He's usually at Granny's trying to convince Ruby to sleep with him.

First my mother, now… my fairytale mother? Everyone is getting laid in weird places, it seems. It's like a whole new curse.

"I know," Ms. Blanchard says, interpreting my silence. "It's a disaster."

"No, it's good," I force myself to say, but I'm still a little grossed out. "You're getting over David Nolan."

"Mm, no, Hannah. First of all, there's nothing to get over. I just met him. We're not… Anything, really. And second of all… it's just a one-night stand." She pauses. She frowns. "Why am I telling you this? We shouldn't be having this conversation. I need to get some adult friends."

The situation is so ridiculous, I giggle a little. But then I remember my original reason to be there and my feelings darken.

"Uh, Ms. Blanchard?"

"Yes, Hannah?"

"I—I caught Graham sneaking out of my house last night," I say with caution, "and he was acting super weird."

Ms. Blanchard chokes on her tea. "Graham was with… Regina?"

"That's not the weird part somehow. I'm a little worried about him. He said I reminded him of someone. And he wanted my approval or something. And then he… he started going on about this wolf…?"

"He came to see me today," Ms. Blanchard tells me.

"He did?" So much for taking care of Eva and Nicholas.

"Yes. And he was acting just like you said." Ms. Blanchard tries to remember. "He was asking me if I remember when we met. Which is strange because… I don't. I don't remember how I met anyone in this town. Except for you."

I suddenly can't breathe like there's something pressing on my chest. So it's happening—really happening. They are finally becoming aware that they've been frozen in time for sixteen long years. I wonder if this poses any danger to them, to remember before the curse is broken. I make a mental note to ask Flynn when I see him later.

"And then…" Ms. Blanchard furrows her brow. "Then he asked me if he had ever hurt me. Which, on itself, was weird enough, but he followed that by asking me if I believed in past lives. He said that since last night, he was starting to remember something, to get flashes of who he used to be before. He said he was a hunter?"

A hunter. Of course.

He is the Huntsman.

The one who'd been sent to kill… Ms. Blanchard?

 _I don't know these woods. You're obviously a skilled hunter. You'll find me. No matter what I do, I know how this ends._

 _Go. Run._

 _I don't understand. Aren't you going to kill me?_

 _Just go! Run!_

The huntsman spared Snow White's life. He delivered a stag's heart to the Evil Queen, as proof that he had completed his mission. But she wasn't fooled by him. So she took his heart instead. She ripped it right off his chest…

 _I don't feel anything_ , Graham told me last night. I shrugged it off because I thought he meant he didn't feel anything romantic for my mother, but what if that's not what he meant at all? What if he literally can't feel anything? What if he doesn't have a heart?

The huntsman used to be a pretty sensitive guy before he met the Evil Queen. He used to cry with every wild life he took, honoring his prey as sacrifice. And when he told Snow White to run it was because he saw the good in her—a scared, young girl, forgiving the hand that was striking her. It is only fitting that his punishment should be a deprivation of that which defines who he is—his heart.

* * *

When I get home, near sunset, Graham is waiting for me at the front gate. He looks a mess, hair disentangled, clothes torn, eyes wild. I'm concerned of what this flashbacks might be doing to his head.

"Hey," I say carefully "I hear you've been having a rough day."

He is on his guard. "Who says?"

"Ms. Blanchard," I say wondering if he'll be angry she told me that. He isn't. "I'm thinking maybe I can help you understand why—"

He comes toward me with such purpose, I back away, a little frightened. "Listen to me, Hannah," he says, voice hoarse. "When I touched your arm last night… I remembered. I don't know how or why… but I did. Maybe it's because when I spared Snow White's life, I granted you yours. I don't know. But—"

"Graham, I—"

"The Queen took my heart," he says, confirming my previous thoughts. "She ripped it out. She never wanted me to be able to feel again. But the wolf will help me find it."

And that's when she see it, standing about ten feet from us, like it's been there all along—the white wolf. Its red eyes pierce me from across the street. Come with me, it would've said if it could speak. Come with me now.

Seeing the look in my face, Graham turns around, following my eyes. "You can see it?" he whispers.

I can only nod.

Happier now, Graham bolts after the wolf. I follow without thinking twice, trying to keep up with his long strides, but he's much faster than me. When I finally catch up with him, Graham is in the cemetery clearing, watching as the wolf howls to the Mills Mausoleum, where my grandfather's rested.

"My heart," Graham says. "It's in there." He breaks the mausoleum door open and is about to get in there when a sharp voice rings in the night's air.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Regina has flowers in her hands which she is most likely bringing to her father's grave... like she does every Wednesday! I should've remembered.

"I need to look in there," Graham tells her.

Regina looks more annoyed than surprised. "Really? Why? What are you looking for?"

Graham swallows nervously. He doesn't want to tell her. I keep forgetting she's, supposedly, the Evil Queen, the source of all trouble. "Nothing," he mutters. "It was, uh… It was nothing."

Regina studies him. "You don't look well, dear. I'll take you home." She gives me a side glance. "Both of you."

"No," Graham says, firmly now. "I don't want to go home. Not with you."

That strikes a nerve. "Oh?"

That's when someone finally says it aloud. "You're evil. The Evil Queen."

Regina's mouth drops open like she can't believe her ears. I don't blame her. I realize now why nobody goes around saying this stuff. It sounds… ludicrous. Childish and mad.

But Graham doesn't seem to think so. "Yes, I remember," he tells her. "I remember who you are, Regina, and what you did."

"Graham, you're not thinking straight," my mother says, trying to brush him aside.

But he has none of it. "Actually, for the first time since your bloody curse, I am. I'm going to help Hannah save us. And then you will pay for what you did."

He storms off after that. Regina is quiet for the longest two minutes of my life, before she says to me: "What the hell was he talking about?"

"I don't know," I deny quickly. "I think he drank a little too much. He isn't making any sense."

I may not know much, I may not even believe with all certainty that my mother is the Evil Queen, but one thing I do know is that if there is the slightest chance she is, the only advantage I have in this game is that she doesn't know who I am supposed to be. And I'm not about to let her find out.

My response seems to calm her down a bit. "Alright," she says. "Let's go home, Hannah."

* * *

I'm having strange dreams about wolves when I hear the pebbles on my window. Thinking it might be Flynn, who I didn't get to see the entire day, I jump off bed and silently run down the stairs. I slowly pull the front door open, only to find Graham standing there.

He doesn't even let me speak. "Where is Regina?"

"Sleeping, I'd guess. Why? What are you—"

"I'll make this quick," he interrupts me, the words coming out of his mouth in a rush. "I am going to help you break the curse, Hannah."

"Uh, Graham, I'm not the right girl," I tell him. "Flynn thinks I am, but I know—"

"I know," he interrupts me again. "You will restore everyone's happy endings. Their memories, their identities. It all depends on you—" Suddenly he gasps, his hand clutching at his chest as he collapses to the floor.

"Graham!" I shout.

But he's dead before he hits the ground.


	5. The Chipped Cup

The Sheriff's death hits everyone pretty hard. Storybrooke isn't used to having to deal with loss, so for awhile people aren't quite sure of how to proceed. We hold a funeral for Graham first thing in the morning, and I'm glad to see that everyone has come to pay their respects, even the little kids, Eva and Nicholas, whom Graham had indeed help reunite with their parents. My mother sets a memorial for him near the police station. A street bench with his name on a plaque, no less.

The official cause of death determined by Dr. Whale is heart attack.

I'm to meet with Flynn at Granny's for lunch, so I take a quick shower (wash the grief off of me), put on some old jeans and T-shirt and hurry up there. As I'm about to turn the corner in the avenue, however, I hear his now familiar voice coming from a dark alley to my right. I come to a halt. He's talking to someone in hushed whispers.

"I think we should stop," Flynn is saying. "Lay low for a bit."

"No." I'm fairly certain the other voice belongs to his so-called partner, August. "It's time. She has to break the curse. She turns sixteen in two days. That's the only opening we'll ever have."

"You said all she needed to do was believe in it," Flynn says. His tone of voice is accusing. "She believes in it, August, and it still hasn't made a single difference. Now you're saying she has to have a birthday?"

"It hasn't made a single difference?" August repeats, sounding affronted. "Are you crazy? It's made all the difference in the world. People are starting to remember—"

"And they're being killed for it." Flynn's voice is cold now, hard. "The Evil Queen murdered the huntsman right in front of Hannah. If she starts to suspects us, if she feels threatened, what do you think she'll do?"

"That's why we need to get this over with as soon as possible."

"You don't play with a curse, August. Hannah's only safe for as long as Regina doesn't know who she is."

"Nobody else is safe while the curse is still in motion," August says fervently. "I don't need to tell you that, Bae."

There is a moment of silence in which I make my decision. I walk into the alley.

"What are you two going on about? Who's Bae?" Something tells me I've heard the name before.

"Shhh," says Flynn coming over to my side. He looks surprised to see me, but not angry that I've been listening in on them. "You can't be saying this name around here. It's not safe."

I try to assess if he's being serious. The conclusion is yes, he is. "Alright," I say. "I won't."

Flynn takes my hand. "Come on. Let's have lunch." He starts pulling me back toward the main street, but August calls my name, making us both stop.

"I have something you need to see," he tells me, after glancing sideways to his friend.

"No," says Flynn. He sounds like he's trying to keep his temper in check. I wonder what is putting him so on edge. Is it just what happened to Graham?

August is a much more patient man. "Why don't we show her and let her decide—"

"I said no." Flynn is firmer this time and August seems to rethink his strategy.

"Maybe another time then," he tells me, and then walks right past us into the main street and out of sight.

I look at Flynn. "Hiding stuff? That's kind of a deal breaker." He gives me one of his crooked grins and I know in my heart that there is literally nothing in the world he can do that will make me break up with him. My warning is utterly empty.

I don't know if Flynn can tell that or not, but he takes it lightly. "I have to keep my mysterious façade or you might get tired of me," he teases, squeezing my hand.

"Be serious," I say, but mostly because making out in a dark alley isn't really my thing so I need to break the spell. No pun intended.

"Look…" he starts. "There are parts about the curse that even I don't understand."

"But the parts you do," I press. "I mean, from your little argument with your boyfriend, I gathered that you're certain my mother is the Evil Queen?"

Flynn pulls me toward the main street and I don't protest. "Who has cast the curse, yes," he says, ten steps later.

I try to keep up. "And she… she's really killed Graham? Why would she do that?" I know what his answer is going to be—because he started to remember who he was before—but I find that a little hard to believe. I am aware that my feelings might be blinding me to the truth—after all, she is my mother and do love her. If she's truly this monster I've been hearing about… well, I don't know how I feel about that. Are my feelings supposed to go away just like that? Should I hate her? Am I even capable of that?

The answer is... maybe. When I break it down, when I separate the good memories of my childhood to the things I'm learning about her, I think that 'maybe' is as close as I can get to an answer. If she is this Evil Queen then she has poisoned Snow White, she has cursed an entire kingdom, she has murdered countless people including Graham and her own father. When I think of her, my mother, I'm unable to spot the monster. But when I think of Graham…

"Look, you've read the book, right?" Flynn says. "You know she has only ever loved one person in her entire life."

I nod. "Daniel—the stable boy." Not me.

"Yes. So… I think that… honestly, Hannah, I think that there isn't a line she wouldn't cross."

I try to let that sink in. My mother. A killer. A monster. Graham… poor Graham. And Daniel… the only one she has ever loved. Not me. Daniel.

"How?" I'm whispering now. Not because I'm worried someone might overhear us, but because my own voice is failing me.

Flynn has a funny look on his face as if he's trying to decide how much of this I can take before I break. "She had his heart," he says. "She took it from him before the curse. I'm guessing she must've crushed it. It's kind of her thing."

Crushed his heart. A heart attack. _I can't feel anything,_ he told me. Emptiness. His heart, crushed by her hand.

As we reach Granny's, I try to shake these thoughts away. We pick a table near the door and Flynn orders some pancakes and two hot cocoas.

"Alright," I say after our orders have arrived. "And where exactly do I come in? I get that I'm supposed to be Snow White's kid, but…" I stop. I don't know how to finish that sentence.

"You are the only one who can stop her curse," Flynn tells me. "You are the savior, a product of true love. Long before you were born, someone prophesied your coming."

As I glance out the glass door, I see David Nolan talking to Ms. Blanchard in the street. They exchange a few words, secret smiles, and then he leaves. Ms. Blanchard stands there for a moment, watching him go. It is a pretty sad sight.

I stand up. "Give me a minute, will you," I say, and I leave before Flynn can reply. I head outside to meet Ms. Blanchard. She's not happy to see me there.

"You saw that, uh?" she mutters. "He comes here every morning to get coffee." She doesn't look very much like herself, I notice. I guess that's what happens when half of you gets taken away. She is wrecked because of David Nolan.

"For him and his wife," I remind her, not because I'm trying to be mean, but because I think love sometimes makes people forget right and wrong. I fear that Ms. Blanchard might not be seeing clearly and I would hate for her to do something she might regret later.

"I know." She sighs. "I know, I know. I just like to… to come here to see him."

I try to lighten the mood a little. "So… you're a stalker?"

"No, not really," Ms. Blanchard says quickly. Then she considers it. "Maybe a little bit. It's not like I'm following him. I just know that he spends his mornings with Kathryn, gets his coffee, then drives to the animal shelter and then he's home around 5h00."

"Is that all?"

"Thursdays they pick up Chinese for dinner."

"Oh my God." That makes me giggle. She's acting more like a schoolgirl than a teacher. She's acting worse than me and I've been feeling pretty struck down by love as well.

Ms. Blanchard is head over hills. It'd be really very adorable if it wasn't so terribly hopeless.

"I can't get him out of my head," she whispers, emotion pouring out with each word. "Love's the worst."

I can't agree more.

"Does anyone want to babysit for me?" someone moans from behind us. We look upstreet. Ashley is coming our way pushing her newborn baby girl on a stroller.

"Wow, Ashley, I didn't even recognize you," says Ms. Blanchard.

"With the baby on the outside?" Ashley rolls her eyes. "I swear, it's an improvement."

"No," says Ms. Blanchard with a smile. "I think you look well. Motherhood suits you."

I'm about to comment that I think she looks well, too, for a new baby mama, but someone else has joined our little group. Mr. Gold, carrying a big box in one hand, his walking stick in the other, and looking no less of a gecko than usual, stops in the sidewalk besides us. He gives us a few polite words before turning his full attention to me.

"I just wanted to offer my condolences," he tells me. "The Sheriff was a good man."

I don't understand why he should be offering his sentiments to me of all people, unless he should think I had a special connection with Graham because he died in my arms. The look on his face tells me this is something else, though.

I stop and take stock of the man before me. Mr. Gold, pawn shop owner, has a bad leg, wears striped suits, has a few gold teeth, owns the entire town. Who is this man? In the book, I mean, before the curse. What am I missing?

"Thank you for the kind words," I say lamely after my silence turns a little awkward.

"I have his things."

I blink. "What?"

"The Sheriff," Gold says moving the box he's holding into my line of vision. "He rented an apartment that I own. I thought I should offer you a keepsake."

I can feel Ms. Blanchard's curious eyes on me. "I don't need anything," I say, unsure of what the right answer to this situation might be.

"As you wish." Gold gives me a sly smile. "I'll give them to Mayor Mills. Seems like she was the closest thing he had to family."

His words chill me to the bone and the scariest part is that I think he knows it. I feel like he's playing me, testing me.

"I suppose that might include you as well, Miss Mills," he goes on. "My, you grew up so fast. I remember like it was yesterday when Madam Mayor brought you home, just a tiny little pink thing. I hope she has enjoyed her time with you. What we get to spend with our children… Let's just say time is a very precious thing. And the thing about children…" his eyes search mine, "before you know it, you lose 'em."

And then the voices do come.

 _Papa! We have to go through!_

 _No! It's a trick. It'll tear us apart!_

 _No, it's okay. I promise. Papa, you have to trust me!_

 _I can't! I can't!_

 _Papa, please! It's the only way we can be together!_

 _I can't!_

 _You coward! You promised! You can't break our deal!_

 _I have to._

Rumpelstiltskin.

A poor villager that injured his own leg so that he could go home instead of fighting in the Ogre war. Abandoned by his wife that was so very ashamed of his cowardice, he raised a son by himself. Years later, trying to spare his son from that very same war, he tries to escape but some soldiers stop him. Humiliated, he decides to seek a power so great nobody would ever dare look down on him again. He finds the Dark One, a terrifying entity with unmatched powers, wishing for his help, but the Dark One does him one better—he tricks Rumpelstiltskin into killing him thus making him the new Dark One.

With these great powers, great evil has followed. The son, Baelfire, did his best to keep his father from going dark, but Rumpelstiltskin was beyond salvation. Believing the only way to help his father was to remove his dark magic, Baelfire opens a portal to the world without magic. Rumpelstiltskin agreed to go with him, but he changes his mind in the last minute and Baelfire alone is sent across worlds, never to be found again.

 _The thing about children… before you know it, you lose 'em._

"Miss Mills, two people with a common goal can accomplish many things," Mr. Gold says, calling me back to the present. "Two people with a common enemy can accomplish even more."

I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even I know what's going on here. He is offering me something, a partnership of sorts. He wants an ally so he can beat the villain of this story—which I'm guessing must be my mother. But Gold is being cautious. I figure he doesn't want to go against Regina directly which is why he's coming to me.

I try to remember what else the book told me about these two. Rumpelstiltskin was imprisoned when the Evil Queen did cast her curse. However, if I'm not mistaken, she went to see him, just like Snow White did, after her first attempt to cast the curse had failed. She went to ask him why. And he told her… he told her that she had to make a great sacrifice; she had to kill the thing she loved the most.

But even before that there is something else. It was Rumpelstiltskin who originally discovered the curse. It was supposed to be the means through which he would be sent to the same land where Baelfire supposedly was. Since the sacrifice required by the curse was too great, Rumpelstiltskin needed someone else to cast it for him.

My mother. He played her. From the very beginning, he played her. Using a strand of hair from both Snow White and Prince Charming, he created a true love potion which he added to the curse scroll. That's what made Princess Odette the savior! It wasn't circumstantial—he made it all happen, he orchestrated everything! He created a loophole to his own curse.

But why?

He wanted to come here to find his son, but I'm guessing the curse would be trapping him in Storybrooke as much as the rest of us. So as of right now, he can't leave to look for his son. Unless… Unless I brake the curse? But that would mean that… that he is aware of where he is and who he is.

And, perhaps what is more worrisome, he is aware of who I am.

Can it be?

I stare at the man before me and I decide that it can. He stands tall, confident of the secrets he keeps. Here, in the land without magic, I guess that translates as his power over the rest of us—knowledge, awareness, remembrance. I ask myself if, ultimately, that doesn't make him a whole lot more dangerous than the Evil Queen.

"Thanks," I say weakly. "I'll remember that."

Just like I remember other things, Mr. Gold. Like the deal I already made with you. Sorry, but I'm not about to dig myself an ever bigger hole.

* * *

Flynn and I have a heavy afternoon dissecting what Mr. Gold's intentions might be. For some reason, the subject seems to make Flynn extremely uncomfortable. I get the feeling he doesn't like Gold very much. I don't blame him; I don't think I like him either.

He walks me home around sunset, just as Regina is arriving. I immediately let go of his hand, but from her expression, I can tell she's seen it. And she doesn't like it. However, she makes an effort to smile and greets Flynn politely.

She also invites him to dinner which I think it's a bit of a stretch. Thankfully, Flynn has some excuse ready—he is to meet with August back at Granny's.

"Pity," Regina says almost sounding like she means it. "Maybe some other time then."

Flynn wishes us a goodnight and starts heading back down the street. Regina doesn't bring up the subject during dinner or afterwards. She keeps our conversation light. She is in a good mood which makes me worry. When we have finished eating, she receives an unexpected call.

"I have to go downtown," she tells me when she's hung up. "I'll be back late."

"Why? What happened?"

"There's been a misunderstanding between Mr. Gold and Moe French earlier today," she tells me like it's not a big deal. "French owed Gold some money. When he failed to make the payment, Gold took his van. It seems Moe has decided to retaliate. That's what happens when you no longer have a sheriff in town." She mentions Graham lightly which makes my stomach churn.

I can't imagine what Moe French must've been thinking to go after Mr. Gold by himself. You don't have to know he used to be Rumpelstiltskin and the Dark One to fear him. But since time has started to move forward nothing has happened here without a deeper purpose. I should keep my eyes open.

After Regina leaves, I hurry up the stairs and into my room where I grab the fairytale book and start shuffling through the pages. Moe French must be someone who's had a connection with Rumpelstiltskin. But who? As the resident villain, Rumpelstiltskin went around making enemies everywhere. What could Moe French, a florist, have against him?

French. Florist. There is a connection I should be making, but my brain is too tired of theories of conspiracy for today. I close the book and put it aside. Maybe in the morning, I decide. I'll figure it out.

Unfortunately, I don't have the night's rest I've been hoping for. My dreams are dark and misty, filled with ogre wars and dark magic and betrayal. A beautiful girl in a yellow dress offers herself up to a beast with iron skin to save her kingdom. She lets a teacup fall on the ground, chipping it. She has the strange ability to see the beauty within.

 _Any curse can be broken._

 _Who told you that? I knew this was a trick, that you could never care for me._

 _No! It was working. It means that it's true love._

 _Shut up!_

 _Why can't you believe me?_

 _Because no one, no one, can ever love me!_

I wake up with a start but it isn't because of the voices in my head. There are voices in the real world, real voices from real people, and they're inside my house. I glance out the window; it's the middle of the night. What the hell is going on?

I get out of bed and slowly open my bedroom's door. The voices are clearer now. They come from the foyer downstairs. I think it's Regina arguing with someone. Barefoot, I go down the hall until I reach the base of the stairs. I can't see them from here, but I can hear them much better.

"You really wanted to get my attention, didn't you?" That can only be Mr. Gold. His tone is carried with bitterness and a certain degree of hostility.

"I tried talking to you yesterday," my mother says, nonchalant, "but you shut me down. This was the only way I could do it."

"You saw me have a row with Mr. French." It's not a question. "So what? You put him up to it? Told him to rob me?"

"I merely suggested that strong men take what they need," is my mother's boastful answer. So the commotion from before that she went to investigate has been something she planned? That actually makes more sense. Moe French doesn't seem the kind to take initiative.

"And you told him exactly what to take, didn't you?" Gold almost snarls. "Alright. When two people both want something the other has, a deal can always be struck. Do you have what I want?"

"Yes." I can hear the smile in her voice. Silence follows that. I assume that Gold is trying to come up with his next move. I feel like I'm hearing a game of chess unfold.

"You know what I want," Gold says. "What is it you want?" He tries to mask his interest, but both me and my mom pick up on that.

"I want you to answer one question. And answer simply." There is a pause. I edge further against the wall afraid to miss her next words. "What is your name?"

"It's Mr. Gold."

"Your real name."

Oh gosh. It is happening.

"Every moment that I've spent on this Earth that's been my name," Gold says, voice soft.

"But what about moments spent elsewhere?"

My heart starts hammering in my chest. I know what she is asking him. She wants to know, much like I do, if he is aware of the curse and of who he used to be before that. If she wants to know this it must be because she is picking up on the changes that have been occurring in Storybrooke. Maybe she knows now that time has moved forward. Maybe she knows that there is people trying to break her curse.

That cannot be good news.

When Gold doesn't answer, Regina presses on. "If you want me to return what's yours, tell me your name." She enunciates the words very carefully—a threat if I ever heard one.

There's a little intake of breath before the answer comes. "Rumpelstiltskin."

It's like the entire world has stopped turning. The name rings in my ears—I have never heard anyone say that aloud, much less mean it. But here it is proof of everything that has been going on in Storybrooke for the last two decades, straight from the horse's mouth.

I hear footsteps and try to focus back on what's going on downstairs. "Now give me what I want," Mr. Gold—or Rumpelstiltskin—growls.

My curiosity gets the best of me. Risking being discovered, I lean over the railing to spy on the two of them. They stand in the middle of the foyer facing each other. Gold's knuckles are white as he grips his walking stick with silent fury. My mother has a teasing grin on her face, like she feels this is some kind of victory. Reaching inside her coat's pocket, she pulls the last thing I expect to see: a simple, white teacup.

No, not a simple teacup—the chipped teacup from my dream.

 _All you have is an empty heart and a chipped cup._

"Such hostility," Regina provokes the beast, waving the teacup in front of him, "over this. Such a sentimental little keepsake."

Mr. Gold takes it from her in one swift motion. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he barks. The use of her formal title makes her grimace like she finds it distasteful. "Now that we're being honest with each other," Gold goes on with much more confidence now that he has his item back, "let's remember how things used to be, shall we? I'm the one with the power around here. And nothing between us has changed."

Regina gets in his face, unaffected by his words. "We shall see." She makes a move toward the stairs and I run back to my bedroom before any of them can realize they've been overheard.

* * *

I am up and dressed before the sun has properly risen. I need to see Flynn straight away and tell him what happened here last night. Grabbing a piece of toast, I run out the backdoor and start hitting the pavement toward Granny's.

I don't get far. Near the edge of my street, I see the white-furred wolf. Graham's friend. I haven't seen it since the day Graham died; in fact, I had almost forgotten about it.

It hasn't forgotten me, it's clear. _Come with me,_ it seems to whisper, just like it did that night. I'll take you where you want to go.

Who am I to argue with a wolf?

Putting aside my original intention, I bolt after the wolf. It guides me through the still dark forest. I don't much think about where its leading me. I guess I have learned to trust it.

I follow the wolf to the point where the intersection forks into two directions; I'm so busy trying to remember where either of these paths lead that I don't realize the wolf hasn't stopped to wait for me. It hastily followed the left path until it disappeared in the distance and I have to run after it otherwise all of this is for nothing. In my rush, it isn't until I'm lying flat on my back that I register I've ran right into someone.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I mutter as a man struggles to sit down. I jump to my feet and hurry to pull him up by the arm. His neck cracks up and his eyes find mine. I'm looking straight into the face of the official town loony, the one and only who has managed to beat me to that title.

"No problem," he says as he straightens up. Then he gives me a long asserting look. "You're the Mayor's kid, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"What brings you out here this early?" He has a pretty face, square jaw and blue eyes. Considering everything else I've seen this week, he looks positively normal today.

"Oh… I was looking for a… a dog," I can't bring myself to say wolf. Ironically, I don't want the town loony to think I'm crazy.

"Well, I hope you find it. I'm Jefferson," he reaches out his hand and I, even though I'm familiar with the name and the person attached to it, shake it.

"Hannah."

"Do you want some tea?" he offers, sounding eager for some company. The saying about misery crosses my head. "I live just around the corner and after getting you covered in mud, I wouldn't dream of sending you home without drinking something warm. We don't want you catching anything, do we?"

The fact that he is referring to himself as two people should've put me on my guard, but he smiles so friendly and his touch is so warm that I can't find a good reason no to indulge the man. I let him lead the way. Jefferson chats animatedly as we walk. The trivial subjects seem to be just an excuse to keep him talking and it makes me wonder when was the last time he spoke to another person.

The house that reveals itself when we turn the corner isn't really a surprise, but its magnitude it's always aweing. White, great and empty it looks a lot like my house if not for the fact that no one ever comes here. It is perhaps the best piece of real estate in Storybrooke and how it came to be in the hands of someone like Jefferson—who doesn't even seem to hold a job or anything—is the real mystery of this town.

It's colorful inside, tasteful—all of the houses in Storybrooke are. Ever since I was little it always seemed to me that the houses looked like they'd all been decorated by the same person because of how much alike they are. Must be the curse.

By the time Jefferson emerges from the kitchen with a tray, I'm actually longing for some tea as something to warm my hands with. The smell of chamomile fills the air as he pours the tea into two cups.

"Here," he says handing me a cup. I bask in the warmth of it before taking a big gulp; it tastes wonderful. "I brought you this," and he pulls a folded map from his back pocket. "I'm a bit of a amateur cartographer. Mapping the area is a hobby. Maybe it will help you track down your dog." He straightens the map on top of a grand piano and beckons me closer.

I'm immediately impressed with what I'm seeing. This map is the most detailed depiction of Storybrooke I have ever seen and I have seen my mother's maps. I wonder how long it has taken him to put all of this information together and how can he have pulled it off with the curse on full motion?

I trail my finger over the map. I can feel his eyes watching me, as if waiting for something, but my mind seems to be slowing down and I can't finish the thought. Something is wrong. The room has started to spin. I look at Jefferson beside me, searching his face for signs that he might think something is wrong too, but my eyes are blurry and I can't make out his face.

"Something wrong?" his voice sounds very distant although he is standing right beside me.

"I feel a little…" I want to say 'dizzy', but my tongue feels like cotton. I stumble onto him and he grabs me with enough force to keep me standing. He pulls me toward the couch and sets me there.

The last thing I see is his bright blue eyes on me, and the sinister smile creeping on his face.


	6. The Wood Boy

Good news is I wake up exactly where I passed out. The room is exactly the same, the fade light streaming from the window looks familiar enough to convince me that I haven't been under for too long. I try to sit, head still spinning.

I move to the windows to try and get out but they're bolted shut. I silently make my way around the room trying to find something that will aid me if and when Jefferson comes back, but I don't find anything. A great telescope set by the window in the east part of the room catches my attention. I approach with caution and fear chills me to the bone when I look through it.

He has been watching me. The desk Graham assigned to me in the police station. The desk I didn't get to use. I'm not exactly sure what this means, but one thing is certain—I have to get out of here.

Without making any noise, I cross the room to the door which I open very slowly, very silently. Jefferson is in the room across from me, his back turned to the door. The movement of his arm and the sound that follows tells me he's sharpening something. I decide I don't want to know what it is.

Holding my breath, I wiggle out to the corridor. The floor is carpeted so it muffles my footsteps. I have taken ten steps when I hear movement from where Jefferson is. Frightened, I turn to the nearest door. It's locked, but the key is in the keyhole. Without stopping to think how weird it is to have a locked room in the house where you live alone, I unlock it and move inside. As I am closing the door, the sound of breathing behind me makes me jump. I spin around.

My brain has no words for what I'm seeing. My shock is too great to register anything other than the obvious, which is that the sleeping girl on the bed is the girl from my dreams, Belle.

 _Beauty is only skin deep._

That may be so, but it doesn't change the fact that this is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. No wonder her name means beauty.

But what could she be doing here? Judging by the fact that the door was locked from the outside, she must be a prisoner here. Jefferson, the town loony, is keeping a girl, Mr. Gold's girl, locked up. I don't even want to think about the reasons behind that.

The door suddenly bursts open and Jefferson is standing there, a gun pointed toward me. Belle stirs a little in her sleep, but she doesn't wake up. "The Queen has asked me to keep her here," her captor tells me even though I never asked.

I straighten up. "What? You mean… my mother? She's asked you to do this?"

"She's not your mother."

My mind is working really fast. I think of my previous realization about Rumpelstiltskin manipulating the Evil Queen into casting the curse, but what if she's smarter than he gives her credit for? What if she took steps to guarantee she'd have something over him if the day ever came when he started throwing threats around, like he did in my house? This is the woman he loves—I know she is because he freaked out because of a chipped cup that belonged to her. Regina must be keeping Belle here in case she needs to use her against Gold.

Check mate.

"Your scope," I say, moving on to the other matters at hand, "you've been watching me."

"I need you to do something for me," Jefferson tells me and then his left hand grabs my wrist and I'm being pulled out of the room. Jefferson locks the door again, and then takes me back to the room across from the one I'd been in.

My mouth hangs open. This room isn't decorated like the rest of the house. No, this room clearly has the touch of Jefferson. The farthest wall is covered with lined shelves that display several top hats, one more beautiful than the last. Some rest on the head of plastic busts. The table in the center is covered with tools: scissors, tweezers, bands, pincushions and needles.

"What… what is all this?"

"You're gonna get it to work," Jefferson says and I have no idea what he means. "You're the only one that can. Make a hat that works."

A hat?

My eyes wander through the hats on the shelves. Knowing fully well that I can't make a hat since I've never learned to sew—much less a magical one—I look back at Jefferson, searching his face for instructions on the very least, only to find him pouring himself a cup of tea. That's when it hits me. The tea, the hats, the psychotic behavior...

"The Mad Hatter," I breathe. Jefferson looks at me. "You're the Mad Hatter. From Alice in Wonderland."

I rack my brain for any more information I can get on him. The book doesn't feature him much. I think he helped Regina once when she was looking for something 'from another land'. Yes, he had a magical hat that worked as a portal between worlds!

I realize that must be what he wants me to do for him. He'll be very much disappointed.

"I know who I am," Jefferson says. "You're the one who doesn't know what you are."

I decide to keep him talking. "So you believe the stories? You believe that I am this… this Princess Odette? The Savior? You think I can break the curse?"

"You've read the book," he says as if that is answer enough. "Yet you choose to ignore it. If you knew what I know, you wouldn't." He steps away from me, nearing the table. "I've been stuck in this house for sixteen years. Day after day. Always the same. Just waiting for you to reach the age of the prophecy."

"I haven't."

"What?"

"I haven't reach the age of the prophecy," I tell him. "My birthday's tomorrow. June 15th. I'll only be sixteen then."

Jefferson assess me for a moment. "Not a problem," he decides. "You'll have to stay here until then."

That's definitely not how I intended for this to go. "Look…" I start. "I don't have magic. I can't… I can't help you. The book is not about me—"

"Everything," he interrupts me, "here is about you." He comes to a halt right in front of me, his bright blue eyes searching mine, hungry for something I don't have. "You're special," the town loony informs me. "You have what it takes to free everyone in Storybrooke—you do have magic."

I think that maybe if I wasn't so scared—I mean, the guy kidnapped me, drugged me and threatened me with a gun—this is the moment where I might've believed him.

He takes a step away from me. He must've read something in my face because he says: "What's crazier than seeing and not believing it?" Jefferson forces me to the chair by the table and sets one of his top hats in front of me. "Now get it to work."

"Well, at least tell me how—"

"I don't know how. You have to find out for yourself."

"Oh that's just great. I'm supposed to just know how to do something I've never done before?" I snap. My hands are shaking; I don't know if it's the fear or the cold.

"You have to find it on your own," he insists. "It has to come from somewhere. The magic. You see, some worlds find it easier; some have magic, some don't. And some _need_ magic. Like this one. But it needs to be found by someone like you."

In a burst of fury, I stand up. "I can't!" I shout, pushing some of his instruments away from me.

"You have to!"

"Look, I didn't ask for this! I don't know how to… to be this savior or—"

"Asked for this?" he mutters. "You think any of us has asked for this? To be stuck here where the thing we love the most has been ripped from us?" He pulls a small battered photograph from his front pocket and shows it to me. It's of an eleven year old girl with honey colored hair and eyes as bright and as blue as Jefferson's.

I know this girl. Her name is Page. We've been to school together when I was her age... Thinking about it now, I realize that one of the places I've seen Jefferson before is the school yard. He's always there, quiet, in the shadows, watching… her, I guess.

"Do you have any idea what is like to watch her happy with a new father? When I get to remember how it was like before all this? She has no idea who I am, our life together, where we come from. See, the Evil Queen was very particular when she cursed us. We are to suffer whatever can hurt us the most. So this is my curse."

"To remember?"

"Yes. It's hard enough to live in a land where you don't belong, but knowing it? Having conflicted realities in your head will drive you mad." Jefferson's eyes are shining with tears now. I can see how vulnerable he is and it gives me hope of an escape.

"That's why you want me to get the hat to work?" I say. "So you can take her home?"

"It's the only place we can be together…" he mutters. "Where she'll remember who I am."

I take a deep breath. "But she won't remember unless I break the curse. Isn't that how it works?"

He hesitates, his eyes closing for whatever he needs to say next, "If you want magic, you have to find—"

I don't wait for him to finish. With the bust of a mannequin, I hit him straight in the face and Jefferson is knocked out. Feeling like a maniac, I grab the gun he has dropped and make a dash for the corridor.

I run out of that house without a single glance back, making the silent promise of going back for Belle as soon as possible.

* * *

"It's time," August decides after I tell him and Flynn about Gold and Regina's fallout, Belle's imprisonment and my kidnap by the hands of Jefferson. "We need to break this curse pronto."

I ran straight home after my escape from Jefferson's manor (and I still haven't forgiven the wolf for abandoning me like that) where I did my best to calm down—I took a shower, I changed my clothes, I forced some food down. And then I called Flynn and told him to wait for me in his room, at Granny's. August joined us a moment later.

They are very good listeners, the pair of them, never interrupting me with questions, simply sitting there looking grave. I'm not entirely comfortable with being the bearer of such dread news, but I can't keep these things to myself either. Whatever is coming, they're gonna have to be there for me.

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Flynn asks him. He speaks quietly and his mind seems to be faraway like it does every time someone mentions Gold.

August eyes are on me. He seems to be considering his options and, by the look of it, I don't think he likes any of them. "I tell you the story that's been missing from the book," he says, face determined. "Or better yet, I'll show it to you."

This time, whether because there really isn't any other choices or because he doesn't have arguments to dispute it, Flynn doesn't argue.

As for me, by this point, I'm opened to anything. So I get on the back of Flynn's bike and let him drive me past the town line. Half of me expected something bad to happen when we were leaving Storybrooke, but I guess we're not affected by that bit of the curse. They aren't from here and I… Well, I'm not quite sure how I fit into that equation.

August is leading the way. He seems to know exactly where he's going although I'm pretty sure we're right in the middle of nowhere. There's only woods and the main road here. Nothing else for miles and miles.

Actually, that's not quite true, as August so quickly proves to me. There is something out here—something I have worked hard to forget. Something, in fact, that I never would've found out about if I hadn't gone through my mother's adoption papers once when I was nine.

Chantey's Lobster House. The small, roadworthy diner of the middle of nowhere, Maine. August parks in front of it and Flynn does the same. I take off my helmet and get off the bike, not sure how to feel about being here.

I can't believe this is the place. I can't believe I'm seeing it, that I'm here, that they're here with me.

"What the hell are we doing here?" the words are sort of wretched from my throat, which is feeling a little tight. I didn't expect to feel so emotional about this. Truthfully, when I first found out about this I did consider coming here to see with my own two eyes where I left as an infant. But I never had the courage to do that. I don't think I'd ever have come here of my own volition.

"I think you know," August says, coming towards me. I yank my eyes from the diner and force myself to look at him. August has pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He is unfolding it. He shows it to me. It's an article. "We've been here before," he says.

No. It's _the_ article. I can't scarcely believe it. How can he have that? Where did he get it? How could he know?

7 YEAR OLD BOY FINDS BABY ON THE SIDE OF ROAD

My mouth hangs open.

"This is the diner you were brought to when you were found as a baby." I don't need him to tell me that. I know. I've lived it.

I lick my lips which have gone extremely dry. "I don't understand," I say because I really don't see where he's going with this.

"This is your story and it's my story," August says shoving the article back into his pocket. "The seven year old boy who found you… That was me."

My mind goes blank. I don't know what I've been expecting, but it isn't this. I glance at Flynn; he is looking away from this as if he doesn't want to hear it. Like he finds this story boring or distasteful. Like he's heard it many times before. I look back at August. "How is that possible?"

"Follow me and I'll show you," he says heading straight into the woods.

I don't know what's come over me, but I follow. I'm trusting that whatever else he has to say can't be any more shocking than what he's already told me.

"The answers as to who you are," August is saying as he marches through the trees, "is right where I found you." He moves fast, certain of where he's going. Like he's been here before, I can't help thinking.

"Well," I argue for the sake of argument, "that seven year old boy actually found me on the side of a highway, not deep in the forest, so—"

"Why do you think that?" he countered. "Because you read in the newspaper? Did it ever occur to you that maybe that seven year old boy lied about where he found you?"

"No," I admit just as August stops walking. He's standing in front of what I imagine must be an oak tree, large and mighty. I'm not sure though; I don't know much about trees.

He turns to look at me. "When I found you, you were wrapped in a purple blanket and the name Odette was embroidered along the bottom of it." From a small backpack I hadn't even noticed he is carrying, August pulls out said blanket as proof of what he tells me.

I take three deep breaths. Nice and slow. I'm only faintly aware of Flynn standing a few feet behind me like he's ready to catch me if I pass out. "Okay," I say.

"It's true, Hannah," August says. He gestures to the three. "We both came into this world through this tree."

"The book says baby Odette was sent alone through the wardrobe," I say in my attempt to make sense of this story.

August shakes his head. "That's because the author never knew that when Geppetto agreed to fashion the tree into a wardrobe, he demanded that the Blue Fairy allowed him to send his son through. Nobody knew that, but that was the deal. That was his condition. That was why Snow White, your mother, was told that only one could be sent through the wardrobe. The second spot had already been filled."

"By you?"

"By me."

"And you are…?"

"Pinocchio." He doesn't hesitate when he says it. He doesn't smile or make jokes—it isn't funny. Not right now at least.

I need a moment. I squat down and brace myself trying to make sense of things. But the only coherent thought in my mind right now is— _it's all true!_ All of it.

"Are you alright?" August asks me. He moves to take a step towards me, but that's when he groans and collapses to the floor.

"August!"

Me and Flynn rush up to him, kneeling beside him. August is lying down, clutching at his left leg. He looks to be in a lot of pain.

"What's the matter with him?" I ask Flynn. "What's happening?"

Before Flynn can answer, August lets out a muffled laugh. "You ever been to Phuket?" he says, but I can't tell who he's talking to. I can't even tell if he is talking to one of us. "Amazing island. Full of pleasures. The perfect place to lose oneself. That's where I was," his eyes find mine, "when I got a painful reminder of the promise I broke."

 _You have to take care of the newborn in this new land. Promise me, son. That's the only way we'll see each other again._

 _I promise, papa._

"I was supposed to be there for you," August goes on. "I'm sorry, Hannah. I failed you."

I watch helplessly as Flynn pulls the hem of August's jeans up, revealing his left leg. Actually, revealing his wooden left leg.

I gasp. "What… What is… What is happening to you? Oh my God! Are you turning back into a… into a puppet?"

August lets out another hoarse laugh. "You see now? You see how much we need you to break the curse?"

I'm shaking all over. "I—I—I don't know how!" I stammer. It's true, I have no idea. If I am supposed to believe in it, I do. The curse is real. The fairy-tales are real. I'm real—Princess Odette of the Enchanted Forest. Still, the curse isn't broken. There isn't a button for me to press to change everyone back into who they used to be. I'm at a loss.

August takes my hand to stop me from shaking. When he speaks again, his voice is firm, hopeful. He believes in me. "We'll help you figure it out," he said.

And that's a promise I know he intents to keep.

* * *

August tells us we need to make a last stop before they take me home. It is a full quarter of an hour before his leg stops hurting and he can stand again. Another five minutes later and he is ready to ride his bike.

I rest my head against Flynn's back on the journey back. He is warm and comforting. The smell of leather and rosemary fill my lungs; it is a familiar scent by now. His presence reminds me that whatever's coming I won't have to face it alone. I guess being the savior isn't going to be as bad as I originally thought. I mean, yes, it's a lot of responsibility for a single person to take in, the happiness of many people depending solely of me, but there are some perks, too.

There is Ms. Blanchard and David Nolan to look forward to, I suppose. Getting to know them as parents. Getting to see the Snow White and the Prince Charming in them.

The trip back seems to go faster and before I know it, the bikes are slowing down in front of Marco's garage. The door is open revealing Marco's workshop. There are tables and shelves with all sort of trinkets carved out of wood. I guess old habits die hard. He's there as well, humming a merry tune while he works.

Flynn and I help August dismount from his motorcycle. "You guys wait here, yeah?" he says and then limps inside the garage. Marco's whistling now and I recognize the song from that day at the police station. He seems to be working on some kind of cuckoo clock. "Align the gear on the spindle," August suggests when he's close enough to be heard, "then press the spring."

If Marco is surprised to see this stranger coming into his garage in the middle of the night, he doesn't show. He considers August for a second before deciding that that is sound advice. He tries it. The gear rolls, the cuckoo appear, the clock works. August and Marco smile at one another.

"Who taught you that?" the old man asks, sounding pleased to find a fellow wood enthusiast.

"My father."

"He taught you well. He must be very proud." Marco grabs a piece of cloth and clean his hands with it.

"I don't know about that," says August. "I don't think I became the man he wanted me to be."

Marco thinks about that. "Have you tried to make it up to him?"

"I made him a promise a long time ago," August says entering deeper into the garage, "that I didn't keep."

"But you realized your mistake," Marco tells him, his accent getting heavier, "and you tried to fix it, no? That's important. If I had a son that would be enough for me."

Even from where I stand I can see that Marco's words mean everything to August. He needed absolution and not from me, but from his father.

"You look like you might be short handed," he points out to Marco.

The old man shrugs. "I get by."

"How would you feel about taking on an assistant?"

Marco, who's trying to organize his work table, looks up, now clearly surprised. "I can pay you," he tells August.

"That's okay," the son says kindly, "I just feel like fixing things."

"Come then," Marco beckons August toward the work table. "Help me, my boy."

* * *

My birthdays have always been nocturnal events, don't ask me why. Regina makes a delicious dinner followed by her extra special apple tarts made from scratch, then we watch TV together as we wait for the clock to strike midnight, and that's when she gives me a present or two and we open it together. I always thought she had concocted this little scheme so I wouldn't have people over. And although that might've worked out for her before, it is _my_ birthday and _I'm_ going to make the decisions this year.

So Flynn Rider is a pill she's gonna have to swallow.

Surprisingly, she doesn't seem all that bothered by his presence tonight. Like she sort of expected it, even. She made enough food for the three of us and she keeps the conversation light and friendly. I wonder if she has a secret agenda and, if it so, how that will affect us. Flynn is obviously way more uncomfortable than she is, but he makes an effort for me.

When the timer goes off in the kitchen and Regina has to go remove the tarts from the oven, she asks if I would be so kind to accompany her. I am. As we reach the kitchen, the smell of apples makes me salivate. This used to be my favorite part of my birthdays and I find that a little part of me is glad that something—even if it's something so small—hasn't changed in all the craziness of the last few days.

"Old recipe," Regina says as she opens the oven door.

"But delicious," I finish for her. She always says that. Every single year.

She smiles at me as she sets the fuming tray on the counter. "Do you have any wishes for this birthday, dear?"

"Only one."

"Oh? Do I get to hear it?"

I shake my head. She smiles again.

"That's hardly fair, Hannah." Regina leans back against the sink counter and crosses her arms. She's still wearing mittens and she looks at me expectantly. "That's hardly fair, Hannah." Regina leans back against the sink counter and crosses her arms. She's still wearing mittens and she looks at me expectantly. "I hope it didn't have anything to do with the boy in other room."

"It didn't." I lean back against the counter opposite hers, mimicking her stand. "And the boy in the other room has a name, mom."

"Of course," she conceded. "I only meant… I wouldn't want you to waste your wish like that. I understand he's your first boyfriend, but you've only known him for a few days. I guess I'm just worried you might be moving too fast," she finishes, a line of worry showing up on her forehead to prove the truth of her words..

"You don't have to worry about me, mom," I say looking down at my own shoes. Truth is: she's probably right. I probably am moving too fast with Flynn although not in the way she means. It's been only a couple of days, and he hasn't said anything to indicate he feels as strongly as I do, but I know that I'm in love with him.

I guess that when you find the right person for you, time ceases to matter.

Time.

I glance at the microwave watch. 23h45. In fifteen minutes, I'm going to be sixteen. Curse or not, I think I'm looking forward to it.

"You know," Regina starts again. I look back at her in expectancy of whatever she wants me to know. "I can't have children."

That's not what I expected her to say at all. "Oh," I say lamely.

"Yes." She looks away and I think she's remembering something. "I, uh… discovered that a long time ago. But when I came here, to Storybrooke, I… I realized I'd really love to have one."

I wait.

"My own mother wasn't…" Regina shakes her head. "She wasn't very nice. And when I got you, Hannah, I was certain that I would do my best to not be like her." She reaches out her mitten hand to take mine.

I feel my breath taking. I realize I haven't touched her since I found out about who she really is. It doesn't feel any different though. I don't feel an electrical wave coursing through me, warning me of danger. I don't feel disgust or hatred towards her. It feels… it still feels like family.

My conflicted feelings must show in my face because she says, "What's wrong, sweetie?" and lifts my chin so I have to look into her eyes. They are brown and full of warmth. Filled with love.

I suddenly feel like crying. This is too hard, too messed up. Curse or no curse, truth or lie, I see now that I can't just break free from my own feelings. She is my mother. She is always going to be my mother. There is no escape.

There's a new curse on the rise. Because I can't hate her and I can't forgive her either. So I'm just as stuck as I've been my entire life.

Nothing has changed.

"Mom." The word is so natural as it comes out of my mouth. It means her. "Mom, you weren't like her. You were… good."

Regina smiles brightly before she embraces me. A single tear escapes her left eye. She brushes it aside.

"Well, let's not keep our guest waiting any longer than he has to," she says, picking up the tray and heading back to the dining room. After a second, I follow her.

Flynn is exactly where we left him, on the second chair on the right side of the table. He has a strange look on his face which makes me suspect he might have heard our conversation. That is not good. I'm not sure he will understand my feelings.

Regina sets the tarts on the table and I reach out for one. She slaps my hand away. "A—a—a," she makes. "That is not for you. That one is for Mr. Rider." She picks up his plate, serves him the tart I've been eyeing and then hands it back to him.

"Thank you, Mayor Mills."

"You're most welcome, dear."

She hands me a smaller tart which I find totally unfair considering that it's my birthday. Maybe she has some stupid idea that Flynn's appetite is bigger than mine because he's a man, well, I will have her know that—

Flynn is coughing a little too violently. I think he might be choking.

"Oh, my," says Regina, sounding concern. "Did you tell him I use apples? Maybe he's allergic. Hannah? Do you know if he's allergic?"

I don't know if he's allergic, but I guess he must be because next thing he's fallen from his chair onto the ground. I drop my own tart and rush to his side. I call his name but Flynn doesn't answer—he can't. I look into his mouth thinking that maybe something's stuck in his throat, but I can't see anything. And now his eyes are closing, his limbs are going limp, he has no reaction left to give me.

I look at Regina. She is on the phone calling an ambulance, but when she glances back at me I see it.

I see _her_.

The Evil Queen is looking back at me.

And then it clicks.

The apples.

The tart.

She did this.

 _I shall destroy your happiness if it is the last thing I do._

I think she just did.


	7. Under the Clocktower

As Dr. Whale pushes the gurney where Flynn's unconscious body lies, two of the nurses try to hold me back. I fight my way through them, under protest, because there's no way they're going to keep me away from him. Whale checks his pupils with a lantern and then he looks over his shoulders and calls me forward. The nurses stop struggling with me.

"What happened? Did he fall?" Dr. Whale asks me when I approach. I brace myself trying not to look at how white Flynn's skin has turned.

"He ate this." From my coat's pocket, I pull a little plastic bag where I put the bitten apple tart my mom fed my boyfriend, and I say the unimaginable truth: "I think it's poisoned."

Dr. Whale looks skeptical. He turns his attention back to Flynn and checks his throat, much like I did back at the house. "His airway is clear," he tells the nurses and me. "Was there vomit? Any convulsions? Disorientation?"

The questions come very fast, demanding a level of clear head that I don't have right now. "He took a bite of this and then he just collapsed," I say waving the tart in front of Whale. I have to stop myself because I can't say what I want to say—that my mother is to blame, that she did this to him.

I don't know why I'm so sure she did it, but I am. The look in her eyes, the previous conversation, her wanting to know how much I cared about Flynn, the comments about not wanting to be like her mother when she was doing exactly what she hated her mother for—killing the daughter's boyfriend.

"The boy is showing no symptoms that would suggest neurotoxin, so whatever's going on," Dr. Whale takes the apple tart from me, probably so I'll stop waving it in front of his face, "this is not the culprit."

I guess I shouldn't be so mad at Whale; it's not his fault he doesn't understand what is going on before his eyes. The curse is pushing him to search for a reasonable explanation to a magical problem.

"He's going to be okay, though, right?" I say when it dawns on me that perhaps Whale can't fix Flynn, can't fix magic.

"I don't know. Right now we just need to stabilize him because he's slipping away. Is there anything else that you can remember? Any little detail?"

 _My mother poisoned him._

"I already told you everything," I say.

Dr. Whale seems frustrated when he looks away from me. He asks one of the nurses to show me the waiting area. This time I don't fight them.

She's there. Regina rises from one of the chairs when I come out of the patient room and makes her way toward me. I feel something boiling inside of me, a feeling I'm not used to—hatred.

I hate her.

"Hannah," she says. "How is he? Is he going to be okay?"

That's when I snap. I grab each of her arms and I shove her with every bit of strength I can conjure. Regina is thrown backwards and her head hits the hospital wall. Some people gasp and stop to stare at me. I know I must look insane to them, hitting my mother and all, but I have ceased to care.

She did this. She is responsible for all of this. She is the Evil Queen. She's cursed this entire town and now she's killing Flynn.

Yes, I will hurt her.

"Hannah!" Regina shouts. "What the hell—" she stops when she looks at my face. Her eyes widen like she can't quite comprehend what she's seeing, but I know she can identify hatred. She created it.

"You did this!" I accuse. "You poisoned him like you did Snow White! You are killing him because he wanted me to know the truth! That you're a monster!" My voice has never sounded so alien to my ears. I can't recognize it, probably because I've never felt such rage before. It's makes me shake where I stand.

Regina's eyes also become unrecognizable to me, three times wider than usual and filled with horror as she finally realizes that I'm on to her, that I know everything, and that there is nothing she can do to stop this.

"It's true, isn't it?" I say. "All of it."

Regina has to look away from me when she confirms it. I feel as if someone is ironing my chest. I shove her again.

"You wake him up!"

"I can't!" she shouts, trying to unleash herself from me.

The innocent bystanders look uncomfortable like they're too afraid to intervene.

I feel dizzy. What does she mean she can't? She is the Evil Queen. She cursed this town. She poisoned an apple tart. She can do anything. "Don't you have magic?"

Regina looks me up and down like she still can't quite believe we're having this conversation so out in the open. For all that's worth, I can't either. "That was the last of it," she tells me.

I back away from her like I've been slapped. Oh, God, I can't breathe. Oh God. Oh God. "So what?" I swallow hard, trying to stop myself from sobbing. "What do I do? Tell me what to do! Tell me. How do I save him?"

Regina sighs like she's giving up on the pretense of years. "You need help," she says and the way she says it makes me think she's willing to provide that help. I don't understand that. She did this. Why would she help me now?

Unless she underestimated what she is willing to do for me.

Which puts a great counterweight on what she is willing to do _to_ me.

* * *

Mr. Gold welcomes us into his shop with a, "Do my eyes deceive me or is that the look of a believer?" but I don't have time for his bullshit chitchat today.

I go straight to the point. "I need your help."

"Indeed you do, Miss Mills. It seems a most tragic ailment has befallen your young friend." He turns his eyes on Regina. "I told you magic comes with a price. From the look on your daughter's face, the price has been her affection."

"Hannah shouldn't have to pay it," Regina answers softly.

"No, you're paying it, dear," Gold tells her. "It's her affection for you that has been broken, not for the boy."

No time.

"Enough," I say. "Can you help us or not?"

"Of course," he grins. "You are in luck, Miss Mills. For true love is the only magic powerful enough to transcend realms and break any curse. Something our dear queen always forgets. Now, I happen to have bottled some."

"You did?" Regina sounds outraged, like she can't believe the nerve in this guy.

"Oh, yes," says Gold. "From—"

"—strands of my parents hairs," I finish for him, remembering what the book has taught me. Both Gold and Regina gap at me. "You made the most powerful potion in all the realm. And when you created the Dark Curse you placed a single drop in the parchment so that would be the means to breaking it."

Gold is smiling. "Just a little safety valve," he says.

Regina still stares at me. "How the hell do you know all that?"

I ignore her. "I don't care about your stupid curse," I tell Gold. "All I care about is saving Flynn."

"Which is why you should be very thankful I didn't use all the potion. I saved some. For a rainy day."

Well, Gold, it's storming like a bitch.

"Where is it?"

He thinks about it. "Where it is, isn't the problem. Getting it is what should worry you."

"Enough riddles," Regina says, annoyed. "What do we do?"

"You do nothing, dearie," he tells her. "It has to be Miss Mills."

"She's my daughter. I want to help her."

"All due respect, but she's not. It has to be her. She's the product of the magic. She must be the one to find it."

I remember Jefferson words: _You have to find it on your own. It needs to be found by someone like you._

"Where is this magic?" I ask him.

Gold still faces Regina. "Tell me, Your Majesty, is our friend still in the basement?"

I glance at her; Regina is grimacing in disgust. "Oh, you twisted little imp," she mutters. "You hid it with her?"

"Oh, no, no, not with her. In her." I can tell Gold is having a blast with all of this. Makes me want to punch him in the face. "I knew you couldn't resist bringing her over."

"What are you talking about?" I demand. "Who is 'her'?"

"Someone you should be prepared for." From behind the counter, he brings out a large and long, wooden box and sets it before me. It looks very old; definitely not from around this world. "Where you're going, you're gonna need this." He opens the lift revealing what's inside.

I can't believe my eyes. "Is that—?"

Mr. Gold nods. "Your father's sword."

* * *

"Hannah, I'm sorry," Regina says to me when we are turning the corner toward Granny's. I glance at her. She does look sorry. But she's a liar and a murderer so I guess I don't much care. "I thought… I didn't know he meant this much to you. Or rather I convinced myself he didn't."

"Oh, so if he didn't, this would be okay?" I snarl because that's all I can do to stop myself from shoving her again.

Regina looks hurt. Good. I'm glad. When she tries to say something else, I interrupt telling her to wait for me here and head inside. Granny redirects me to August's rented room. I basically fly upstairs and when I find the right door I slam my first on it several times.

"August!" I call out. "Open up! I know you're in there! Granny didn't see you leave! Come on, open the door!"

The answer comes in a low grunt. "I can't."

I frown. He can't? What is going on?

Deciding I don't have time for this, I kick the door open. It hurts my leg a bit, but it gets the job done. I storm inside the room and find August lying stiffly in bed. His entire body, with the exception of his head, has turned to wood.

"Oh no," I mutter, rushing to his bedside. "August."

"Hannah," he whispers although speaking seems to cause him pain.

"What do I do? How do I stop this?" I ask, desolated.

"Break… the… curse…"

I shake my head. "I still don't know how. Look, August… Something's happened to Flynn. And to save him… I need your help."

Tired eyes meet mine. "No… you… don't…"

My mouth drops open. His neck! It's turning to wood, too. It's reaching his face. "August…"

"You can save… Flynn…" he tells me as his face starts to harden. "You… can save… all of—" And then it happens. August is gone. I'm left with an inanimate wood puppet.

And then I do cry. I cry because I never felt so desperate, so alone. I thought I could have August's help to save Flynn and then Flynn's help to save August. It never occurred to me that I could lose both of them at the same time.

I glance out the window. Dusk has settled. June 15th. My birthday. This isn't a good start.

I get out of there quickly. Back out on the streets, Regina waits for me where I left her. I can't believe I feel sort of relived to see her there. Like her presence means that I'm not alone when, if it wasn't for her, none of this would be happening.

She takes me to the library without any further attempts to conversation. It is close at this hour, of course, but as mayor Regina has the skeleton key of the city. I've never been to the library at night—it's kind of creepy. Things look abandoned, like maybe someone left in a hurry. Behind the front desk, a poster on the wall advertises the book categories: general works, psychology and philosophy, religion and mythology, social sciences, languages, natural sciences and math, applied sciences and technology, arts and recreation, literature, geography and history. Even in the dark, I wouldn't need this to guide me—I know this place like the back of my hand.

Or at least I think I do, because Regina walks past the front desk straight to the mirrored wall in the back. I follow in silence wondering what else can possibly happen. Regina didn't exactly tell me what it is that we're doing here and part of me is too afraid to ask. She places her bare hand against the mirrored wall. With a loud clank, the whole thing starts to move, opening up and revealing a hidden double door behind it.

Holy cow. Is anything just what it looks like in Storybrooke?

Regina moves a crank that ignites the complicated set of gears locking the door. It makes a lot of noise as it opens. I'm not sure what I'm looking at, but I think it's an old-school elevator set.

"Get in," Regina orders me.

If she thinks I trust her, she's very much mistaken. "After you," I say.

She makes a face. "It's a two man job. The elevator's hand-operated. I have to stay up here and lower you down."

"Fine." I step up to her. "But first you're going to tell me exactly who I'm meeting down there."

"An old friend. Her punishment here was different than everyone else's. I trapped her," Regina says, studying my reaction, "in a different form."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Who's down there?"

Regina takes a deep breath before answering. "Listen very carefully, Hannah, because this is what you're going to have to do."

Ten minutes later, she lowers me down in the elevator to the underground cave she calls a basement. It isn't, Regina explained to me, but rather an elaborated prison she created to keep the one who is, at the same time, her best friend and enemy—Maleficent. The name didn't scare me at first; I guess I was too ignorant to comprehend what Regina was telling me. But the next detail about Maleficent did give me pause.

A dragon.

She put a dragon under the Storybrooke Free Public Library.

During Regina's monologue, I wasn't entirely sure I understood what a dragon is in this instance. I imagined what everyone would have imagine, I suppose, but who could say that that's what I'm going to find down there? Regina showed me how to unsheathe Prince Charming's sword and gave me a quick tutorial on how to use it. Then she shoved me inside the elevator shaft.

So the "down there" turns out to be a long, dim corridor, semi-illuminated by torches on the walls. The stones under my feet crouch when I take an hesitant step forward. It smells like dirt in here and something else, something not so distinct—I think it might be fear.

At the end of the stone corridor, a wide clearing reveals itself to me. It's cold now, the rock formation keeping the warmth away. I don't see anything dangerous. I don't hear anything other than my own footsteps.

My heart is in my throat. The sword is heavy in my hands. I'm afraid to be caught with my guard down. I honestly still can't believe what I'm doing down here, on my birthday, except that part of me is aware that there is nothing in the world I wouldn't do to keep Flynn from dying.

And then I feel it, behind me, a shift in the air, like something enormous is breathing down my neck. The air turns warm and musty as I turn on my heels, and I realize that 'enormous' doesn't even begin to cover it. What I'm looking at is too great for words.

Yep, turns out the dragon in my mind and the dragon under the library are pretty the same. I've imagined it just right.

I back away in fright and almost fall backwards as the dragon rises to its full height (which I can't measure). Its mouth opens and it spits a great ball of fire into the ceiling. Immediately, the entire room starts to boil like I'm standing inside a frying pan.

And then something even weirder than fighting a dragon happens—it speaks to me.

 _Who are you?_

I'm unsure as to where the voice comes from, because it has its mouth closed again, but I'm sure it's the dragon speaking because its great emerald eyes are focused on me. The voice isn't feminine or masculine—it's like a humming whisper I can't shake, speaking right into my ears.

"I—I—I'm Hannah," I stutter. "Hannah Mills."

The dragon moves closer, as if to sniff me, and I instinctively raise my father's sword in the air between us—a warning: do not come any closer. The dragon stops, eyeing the blade with curiosity. As it does that, I take a moment to digest its body, so great, so big, it's impossible for me to see the big picture while standing this close. In this dim light I cannot be sure, but I think its scaly skin has a purplish color. The wings on its back look a little shriveled up, as if the years spent under the earth have taken a toll.

 _Where did you get that sword?_

"Mr. Gold—I mean, Rumpelstiltskin gave it to me." It comes to my mind that Regina told me very specifically that I should get in, kill the dragon, get the true-love potion and get out as fast as I could. However, now that I'm here, talking to it, I can't help thinking that perhaps that is the Evil Queen's way of handling things. And I'm not the Evil Queen. I'm not even her daughter.

The dragon makes another move, this time sideways, looking uncomfortable by the name I have evoked.

 _Then I know what you're here for. He sent you, didn't he? He sent you to retrieve it. I knew he would, sooner or later._

I force my breath to slow down. Somehow I don't feel threatened. Maleficent speaks to me instead of burning me to a crisp. I'm optimistic enough to believe that her inhuman form hasn't affected her judgement. Of course as Maleficent she isn't exactly a good person either, but I'm hopeful I have something she'd be willing to trade with the true-love potion.

The storybook gives me clue.

 _Don't do this. This curse. There are lines even we shouldn't cross. All power comes with a price. Enacting it will take a terrible toll. It'll leave an emptiness inside you. A void you will never be able to fill._

 _So be it._

Way back when, Maleficent warned Regina about the curse, but she wouldn't listen. Maybe in order to gain Maleficent's trust, I should prove to her that I'm willing to do just that.

"Do you know who I am?" I ask, my voice surprisingly steady.

The dragon studies me. It doesn't seem to recognize anything special about me.

 _Should I?_

"I'm the one who can break the curse," I tell her. "The Dark Curse."

 _Why you?_

"I…" Now that's a question I don't have an answer for. "Rumpelstiltskin made it so."

Maleficent makes a noise that sounds like a snort.

 _Of course he did. He is always prepared, is he not?_

There is a pause in which she evaluates me.

I assume the potion he had that wretched Charming slip inside me has something to do with it? Isn't that what you seek, little one?

I nod. "Yes. Please, if you could just—"

 _What? Give it to you?_

I swallow hard. Her tone has changed. She sounds… challenging. "Yes, please."

 _Why would I do that?_

I put my cards on the table. "Because when I brake the curse, you will be free, too. And I'm willing to bet you want your freedom maybe more than anyone else in this town."

Maleficent exhales and a thick wave of hot air blasts me. It makes my eyes water and my armpits sweat. And then she inhales deeply and I can't shake the frightening idea that she's trying to memorize my scent. Looking satisfied, the dragon gives me a warning, too.

 _Alright, Hannah Mills. I guess we have a deal. But you should know that once the Dark Curse is broken, reckoning shall come for your mother. I hope that's a price you're willing to pay._

I hear the Evil Queen's voice in my head: _so be it._

* * *

Diplomacy.

Maybe in the fairy-tale world you have to kill your enemies to win your battles, but in this world, my world, nothing works like diplomacy.

I'm feeling extremely proud of myself as I head back to the elevator shaft, five minutes later, with the tiny little vial Maleficent, the dragon, has handed me (I rather not comment on where she took it from). The liquid inside is bright purple with sparks of gold. I'm not an expert in the matter, but its looks like pure magic to me.

I press the green button inside the elevator that warns Regina up there I'm ready to be pulled up. Not a moment later, the shaft starts to move. I feel energetic, alive, like nothing can stop me now from saving the boy I love. I did what I had to do. I'm owed something good in return—

With a bang, the elevator stops moving 4 feet from the opening to the library floor. I look up. "Mom?" I call out. "Mom, what was that? Mom?"

Someone looks down on me, but it's not Regina.

"Miss Mills," says Mr. Gold, "you got it?"

"What are you doing here?" I ask, finding the whole thing a bit odd. Where is Regina?

"I came to check on you," he answers simply. "And I'm glad I did. Regina's abandoned you. Sabotaged the elevator."

It feels like a slap in the face. Oh God. I should've known better. I should've… Well, I don't know what I should've done.

"What do I do?" I ask him, trying to keep my frustrated tears from spilling out. "Can you help me up?"

He shakes his head. "You can't possibly scale the wall and carry that," he points to the vial in my hand. Indeed, it looks extremely fragile. I don't know if I should risk it. "Toss is up," Mr. Gold suggests as if reading my mind. "Your boyfriend is going to be fine. I promise. But you have to trust me."

Not like I have a choice…

"Fine," I say, defeated. "But don't drop it."

Mr. Gold watches me attentively. I grip the vial, trying to aim and, praying to God nothing else will go wrong, I throw it up. It happens in slow motion. The vial goes up, up, up in the air, higher than the library floor and then starts to descend, just as slowly. Mr. Gold reaches out with both hands and catches it.

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Alright," I say, climbing the top of the elevator shaft and raising my hand to him. "Help me up." But Mr. Gold isn't looking down anymore. In fact, he's just left me here.

Son of a skunk.

This is the worst birthday ever.

I climb the shaft with a determination I'm not used to because now I have a much bigger purpose to reaching the top—a very well deserved punch in the face. It's easier than I expected it to be and in two minutes I'm in the library floor looking at Regina's who's tied to a simple chair, her mouth covered with tape.

"Mom!"

Oh, thank God she hasn't betrayed me again. I don't think I can stand it.

I hurry toward her and remove the tape with a swift move, like a band-aid.

"He tricked you," she says, unnecessarily; the skin around her mouth is turning red from the sting. I untie her as quickly as I can. "He manipulated all of this," she says, standing up. The fury in her voice is very Evil Queenish.

"He can't be that far," I say, "maybe we can reach—"

My cell phone rings, interrupting what I'm about to say. I pull it from my pocket and look at the screen. My heart skips a beat.

It's from the hospital.

I'm too late.

* * *

The atmosphere is so, so grim is pretty telling death has reach this hospital. It's an alien situation, not just for me, but for the lot of them, too, since death isn't something Storybrooke is familiar with, and since Graham hadn't been in the hospital when he died.

I'm greeted by Dr. Whale and Mother Superior, head nun of the Convent of the Sister of Saint Meissa, which is near the Storybrooke harbor. I used to go there when I was younger because the nuns keep a very nice garden and they always let me help water it, all the while telling me how to recognize the plants, the flowers and the vegetables. Her presence today, however, isn't comforting to me.

"We did everything we could," Dr. Whale answers my unasked question.

"I'm sorry, Hannah," Mother Superior says, "Mr. Rider's gone."

My mind only half registers their words. I'm not quite sure what it means. I came to save him, didn't I? I shoved my mother against the hospital wall, I carried my father's sword around, I had a talk with a dragon, I was tricked by Gold—for him, it was all for him.

Flynn.

Regina reaches out for me, but I wiggle out of her grasp. She's the last person who should be trying to comfort me right now. I haven't forgotten. She did this. She killed him.

Killed. Dead. He's dead, he's gone.

There's only one way to know that for sure; I have to see him.

I push past them ignoring their protests and enter the patient room where Flynn lies. Unsurprisingly—although it stills surprises me—he is immobile, white and there's a nurse disconnecting his heart monitor.

I don't understand. He is just a boy. So young. It's not fair.

 _And, yes, she was beyond hope, beyond saving. This was her end. When Prince Charming saw his beloved Snow White in her glass coffin he knew all that was left was to say goodbye._

And what about me? Us? I'll never get to hold his hand again. I'll never hear him laugh, or smell his neck, or have him kiss me. I'll never really get to know him.

 _He had to give her one last kiss._

I feel like my heart has stopped right along with his. Like it has quit me and I am still breathing just out of sheer stubbornness because I have no reason left to be alive. What is the point anymore? I lost the love of my life and I failed to break the curse.

It's morning now. The sun has risen. It dares to shine even though darkness has settled.

Unfair. So not fair.

I reach out and touch Flynn's hand. He already feels too cold when compared to what I am used to, to what he's been in life. There's a horrible ache in my chest, probably from the weight of my stupid, dead heart.

Time's up.

This is goodbye.

I bend in. My lips touch his one last time. A incessant thought crosses my brain—I love you, Flynn. I love you. I love you. I love you.

 _And when he did, true love proved more powerful than any curse. A pulse of pure love shuttered out and engulfed the land, waking up Snow White and bringing light to the darkness._

And then an unexpected breeze makes everyone in the hospital shiver. Regina, Dr. Whale and Mother Superior (who I had not realize had followed me into the room) turn to look at me like they can't believe what they're seeing, just as Flynn's eyes pop open and he gasps for the breath that has been denied him for the last few minutes.

Dark-green eyes meet mine. His lips move slight like he's trying to say something but still hasn't quite caught his breath. My heart starts beating again in my chest, so loud I'm convince everyone will hear it.

"You did it," Regina whispers from behind me, her voice in awe, but right now I don't care what she's saying or thinking. Nothing else matters to me but Flynn.

Because Flynn is alive. He is alive. He's come back to me. I'm not alone.

But Flynn's eyes aren't on me anymore (which I find a little offensive but okay). He's looking around the room, as he tries to sit up. I turn around to see what the hell is more interesting to him right now than me.

Regina, Whale, Mother Superior and the rest of the nurses are rounding us, their eyes set on me like they're seeing me for the first time in their lives. I can't fathom what it is that they're finding so capturing about me when the boy beside me has literally come back from the dead.

I open my mouth to speak, but Mother Superior beats me to it.

"That was true love's kiss," she says. "You broke the curse, Hannah."

 _...more powerful than any curse..._

 _Undone by a simple kiss._

My mind is reeling. I feel as if I'm floating out to space, completely lost, grounded only by whatever connects me to Flynn and how I feel about him. I wonder if that's how Prince Charming felt when he kissed Snow White back to life.

"No, no, no!" Regina exclaims, as realization falls upon her. Everyone looks at her. For the first time ever, she looks positively frightened.

Mother Superior raises her chin and looks down on Regina with warning: "If I were you, Your Majesty, I'd find a place to hide."

The message is clear—we remember now and we're coming for you.

It reminds me of what Maleficent said before she gave me the vial containing the true-love potion.

 _Once the Dark Curse is broken, reckoning shall come for your mother._

She's probably more right than she thought.

Regina puts herself in front of me, calling my attention, so I have no choice but to look her in the eye. "Hannah," she says with tears in her brown eyes, "no matter what you think, no matter what happens or what anyone tells you, you are my daughter and I do love you."

It is a sentiment I'm familiar with, something I know she means, but that now, after everything, I cannot believe.

Everything has changed now and I can no longer be her daughter. I just know it.

Hannah Mills might have broken the curse, but the price is that she doesn't get to be Hannah Mills anymore.

I am changed.

I'm something else.

Something more.

Regina turns toward the door and runs out of the hospital like the devil is chasing her.

And now he will.


	8. The Wraith

The world feels changed as Flynn and I walk out of that hospital. Brighter, maybe. Promising, definitely. Larger than life. People look changed, as well. They hurry across the streets, looking to be reunited with their loved ones. They shout names, they cry into each other's arms, they laugh with one another. They are complete again.

Flynn walks beside me without help; he seems healthier than he was before he ate the poisoned apple tart. He beams at me every time he meets my eyes. I still am quite humbled by what happened when I kissed him. I wish I could look as happy as he does now that the curse is broken, but so much has happened I feel a little overwhelmed.

I haven't slept all night, I remind myself, wishing everything could stop so I can take a quick nap.

The world doesn't stop though; much on the contrary, it seems to spin faster around me. Families are meeting in every corner. Some of them wave at me as I go by. Some thank me even. Others are too wrapped up in their own little worlds to notice me—their savior.

I guess that, unconsciously, I mirror them. My mission is the same as theirs. To find my loved ones—my family. However unorthodox that might be.

I come to a halt when I see them—Prince Charming and Snow White—David Nolan and Ms. Blanchard. They are being greeted by their long time friends: Granny, Ruby, Leroy. Everyone seems happier than they have ever been in this town.

"Your Highness," Leroy is saying to David. "The curse… Is it broken?"

"So it seems," David answers, voice confident. He is Prince Charming now, I can see it clearly as day.

"What do we do now?" Ruby ask them, clutching her grandmother's hand. It's a strange gesture, one that reveals a deep connection, one that I'm not used to seeing between them. The curse must've made them have a pretty bad relationship because they have never got along, not for as long as I've known them.

If that is due to me, I'm grateful.

It is Ms. Blanchard who answers this time. "Now I find my daughter." Her words send a shiver down my spine. It's true, it's true. She means me. It's really true.

"I found you first," I say from behind them. My voice is a little breathless, a little too eager. I can't help it, I want to properly look at them for what they are, what they have become. I want to see their faces—again and for the first time—the people who brought me to this world. The people who made me. My parents.

I'm not disappointed. The look they give me… it is beyond words. I know it's some kind of love, but I think maybe it is the kind of love you can only understand if you're a parent. They, too, are looking at me like they're seeing me for the first time. They are taken by emotion when they reach out to me, embrace me, and I am too dumbstruck to move.

I cry. Not very hard, just enough to expunge the emotions that fill my chest. I suspect that I would cry more if I were better rested. My body lacks the strength just now. Still, I do cry. I cry because they're here. I cry because I found them. I cry because of everything that has happened to keep us apart. Now we are together.

David plants a kiss on my forehead much like he did to baby me in the book before he put me in the magical wardrobe. Ms. Blanchard—or Snow White—has tears in her eyes as she keeps me at arm's length so she can look at me again. Her eyes desperately try to capture every detail of my face as if afraid I might disappear before she can know it by heart. Then she embraces me again, cupping the back of my head with her hand, pressing herself so hard against me we might merge into a single being.

"You found us," she whispers in my ear and her voice feels so sweet, so familiar, like a mother's voice should be.

 _Did you ever doubt I would?_

"She did it," Flynn says from behind me. "She's saved you."

Ms. Blanchard nods. "She saved all of us," she tells him but her eyes never leave mine.

"Then why are we still here?" asks Leroy, grumpily, breaking up our little reunion. I glance at him. He is accompanied by six friends. I can pretty much guess who each of them is.

David recovers first. "That, my friend, is an excellent question," he says, turning to Leroy. But that is all he gets to say before what comes next.

"What is that?" Ruby shouts making all of us turn again. She points into the horizon where a purple smoke rises taking over the entirety of Storybrooke. Everybody tenses up.

This purple haze goes right through us. People gasp and try to protect themselves from it, like they fear it might be another curse, but it doesn't seem to be causing any physical (or metaphysical) harm. Nobody seems to quite know what it is either.

Of course it's magic, but we should discover where it's coming from and who's doing it.

I have a pretty good guess—the mist resembles a lot the true-love potion I've retrieved from Maleficent—but I suppose I shouldn't jump the gun.

"That's magic," says Mother Superior approaching our little group. She has followed me here from the hospital. "It's here. I can feel it."

"Magic?" Flynn repeats, frowning. "In Storybrooke?"

"Well, you're the Blue Fairy," says Leroy, gesturing to Mother Superior. "Do something!"

She shakes her head. "It's not quite that simple. No wand, no fairy dust… Matters are complicated. I don't have magic here. Someone else does."

"Then let's talk to the person responsible for all this," says Leroy, arms crossed over his chest. "The queen!"

"Yeah!" one of his brothers shouts. "Let's get her."

"No." My voice sounds different, somewhat detached, as if I'm not quite here, but still I manage some authority. Every pair of eyes fall on me. "It wasn't... her. It was Gold. We need to find him now."

My decision made, I don't wait for the others as I start heading up the street. I can hear almost every one of them following me though.

Ms. Blanchard hurries to catch up with my stride. "Is there anything you want to ask us?" she says to me as we walk. "Hannah, you must have questions."

"The only questions I have right now are for Mr. Gold," I tell her with honesty. I want to know why he double crossed me and what he did to this town. Maybe give him that punch.

With the corner of my eye, I catch Ms. Blanchard gazing at David for support. "Uh, shouldn't we talk about… it first?"

"What?"

"Us," she says sounding like she thinks I'm crazy for not realizing that. "Your life. Everything?"

"I—" I don't really know what to say to her. Ms. Blanchard knows me, she's been in my life, she's been in all of it. I can't think of a single thing she might not know about me already. "Maybe… later?" I suggest lamely.

"We know it's a lot to take in," David intervenes, and the interest in his eyes are something I can understand since he's been in a coma since I was born, but Ms. Blanchard doesn't let him speak.

"And we don't want to push, but we've waited for this moment for sixteen years—"

"Yes, so have I," I say a little brusquely. I come to a stop and so does everyone else, watching me. I try to face her—my mother. "I've thought about this moment my entire life. I've dreamt about who you might be. But all the scenarios I've concocted, my parents being three blocks down all this time..." I don't know how to finish that thought. "It's just a little—"

Footsteps and shouts interrupt me. David's eyes are first to leave my face. Whatever's going on up the street has caught his interest. "Snow," he calls her warningly and Ms. Blanchard tears her eyes from me to look ahead.

I turn. There's a mob crossing the main street. Their shouts are too reckless to understand but I can guess where they're going. I know what's that way—my house.

Dr. Hopper rushes toward us. "You need to come with me," he says urgently to my new found parents. "I need your help. Dr. Whale has worked up everyone to a frenzy. They're going to Regina's house… They're gonna kill her!"

"Great," someone growls from behind me. Leroy, most likely. "Let's watch."

"We do not stoop to her level!" Dr. Hopper says to him. "Killing is wrong!"

"Yes," I say, turning around and carefully avoiding Ms. Blanchard's eyes. "They can't kill her. She's… She's still my mom." It's a hard truth to digest and a blow to Ms. Blanchard, I'm sure, but the truth none of the less.

That is the one curse I cannot break.

Again, it's David who speaks first. "If the Blue Fairy is right and magic is here, then Regina can have her powers back. They could be marching into a slaughter."

Okay. If they want to do this for the people rather than for Regina, I guess that's fair. As long as they do it.

David meets Ms. Blanchard's eyes and an unspoken understanding goes between them. They're going to help me save their worst enemy.

What else are parents for?

* * *

When we reach the scene of the crime—or soon-to-be-crime anyway—A.K.A. my front yard, the mob has cornered Regina into the porch screaming things like 'get her!' and 'don't let her get away!' while Dr. Whale grabs her by the shoulders and pins her to one of the marble columns.

His hands are inches from her neck when I shove him aside yelling "Let her go!" I don't have time to check if Regina is okay. Whale is rounding on me.

"Why should I listen to you?" his voice is low, creepy, unlike what it used to be, what I grew used to. Looking at him now, I realize I haven't the slightest idea who he is—or who he was back in the Enchanted Forest—so I don't know if he's dangerous or not.

"Because she saved you," David answers in my stead, "all of you." I feel grateful to have him by my side as Whale looks down on me.

"And because no matter what Regina did, it does not justify this," says Ms. Blanchard to the crowd of people. I feel really proud of her for saying that. It mustn't be easy. Of everyone here, she is the one who lost the most in Regina's hands.

"We are not murderers," I say to Whale.

"Well, we're not from this world," he answers, taking a step towards me. And then David is there, putting himself between Whale and me, a hand raised in warning.

"Back off, Whale."

"You back off. You're not my prince."

There is a moment of silence after that bold statement. Everyone looks at Whale, surprised, like they only just realized he doesn't belong. Well, if Prince Charming isn't his prince then that can only mean he's not from the Enchanted Forest. But then… who is he? Where did he come from? What was he doing in the Enchanted Forest when the Dark Curse hit?

The same questions seem to be coursing through David's head. "Who are you, Whale?" he asks, brow furrowed.

The answer comes in an ever creepier whisper, "That's my business."

David isn't crept out though. Instead, he scoffs. "Well, my business is making sure this town doesn't go to hell, so whether or not I'm your prince isn't the issue. We have a lot to figure out," he says, and now he is talking to everyone, "and this isn't the way to do it."

Ms. Blanchard helps sway the crowd. "And Regina's death won't provide any answers," she says, staring at the woman who stole her happiness. "She needs to be locked up. For her safety and, more importantly, for ours."

So we do it. We put Regina in one of the two cells of the prison station. I haven't been in here since Graham was alive and the memory of that doesn't help what I'm feeling towards Regina right now.

"So I'm a prisoner?" she asks David, defiantly, from behind the iron bars.

He answers her question with one of his own. "If the curse is broken, why didn't we go back?"

Her reply is spiteful. "Because there's nothing to go back to. That land is gone."

Ms. Blanchard, beside me, looks stricken by that. "We should get to Gold," she suggest, like she can no longer stand the sight of Regina.

I get the feeling.

"Hannah," Regina calls me back as I am leaving.

"It's better if you don't," I warn her, stopping on my tracks but not looking at her.

"If I don't what?" she asks, puzzled.

"Talk to me," I enlighten her. "I'm not ready. Maybe after long sessions of therapy."

Regina sighs at that, but I still don't look at her. "It wasn't supposed to be you," she says to me, voice low. "It wasn't supposed to be this messy."

That catches my attention. I turn around. I'm just aware of David and Ms. Blanchard behind me, watching and listening. I kind wish Flynn was here, too, because his presence is usually enough to calm me down. But alas, he thought it was better if he stayed back, keeping the rest of Storybrooke calm instead of me.

"What?"

"It was Gold," Regina says. "Sixteen years ago, I asked him to find me a baby. The nearest one he could find, I said. One that was alone, one that needed a mother. He brought me you."

It's a little shocking that she's telling me this now, but what she's saying actually makes sense. It's just another thing Mr. Gold has manipulated, placing me exactly where I needed to be to break his curse for him.

"Of all the babies in this world," Regina muses, "he brought me you. It wasn't supposed to be their baby," she sneers to David and Ms. Blanchard. "It wasn't supposed to be you."

"Well, I'm sorry if I ruined your evil plans, Mom. Maybe I should thank you for saving me from that horrible situation," I say, my voice harsh, "where you put me."

She just looks at me, too hurt to make any reply. Good. There's nothing she can say.

We're officially over.

* * *

I walk toward Gold's pawn shop with determination, certain that nothing can hold me back until Ms. Blanchard grabs my hand and forces me to stop. I look at her, surprised. Whatever she has to say, I'm sure she can do it on the move. We haven't got time to lose.

"We need to talk."

Oh. I see what this is. The talk. The elephant in the room.

I look at David. He has his arms crossed, casually. He is peering at his wife. I think that, like me, he sort of wishes she wouldn't do this right about now. We're already relating to each other.

"Gold can wait," Ms. Blanchard says. "I can't." Her expression is very serious. I never saw her like this. "You're my daughter and… I want to talk to you." With that statement, her face lightens a bit into a smile. "I know that we have talked, but we didn't know that we were talking. And we talked about things we probably shouldn't even have talked about…" her face colors, "one-night stands and the like."

Now David has his hands on his waist. "One-night stands?" he demands.

I close my eyes wishing that this wasn't happening. The thought of Ms. Blanchard and Whale is even worse now that she's officially my mother. Yuck.

"Whale."

"Whale?!"

"We were cursed," Ms. Blanchard shakes it off. " That is neither here nor there. The point is, we did not know that we were mother and daughter, and now we do, and so… Please, let's talk," she asks me with such feeling I know I can't refuse her. Even though we are in the middle of the street. Even though Gold might disappear from this town at any second.

"Alright. What do you want to talk about?"

David still looks annoyed so he doesn't say anything. Ms. Blanchard goes on.

"We're together," say says with a smile, "finally and… I can't help but think…" her face falls, "you're not happy about it."

David quickly looks at me. I suddenly feel awful. Did I give them that impression? I really didn't mean to.

"Oh, but I am," I guarantee them, trying to put as much honesty to my words as I can because I really want them to know that. "It's just… I'm just..."

They wait patiently as I struggle to express myself.

"I haven't slept. Flynn died and then he didn't. I saw a dragon. It spoke to me. And then my mom is not my mom… and you and him… you are… and I'm not who I was," I'm babbling like an insane person. "I don't know who I am." I only realize that's true when I say the words. Who am I now? Hannah? Odette? Both? Neither?

Their faces look pained now, but still they wait.

"Now we're here. Together, yes. But before… we weren't. You sent me away." I sound more accusing than I first intended to, but it can't be helped.

"We did that," Ms. Blanchard says, "to give you your best chance." Her words are assuring and apologetic at the same time.

I nod. I get it. "You did it for everyone because that's who you are, leaders, heroes, princes and princesses, and that's great and… and amazing… and wonderful, but… it doesn't change the fact that… we weren't together."

I guess technically we sort of were, but I think they know what I mean.

Ms. Blanchard looks deeply upset which, in turn, upsets me. This isn't what I want. "But if we hadn't sent you away, you would have been cursed, too," she says, trying to reason with me.

"But we would've been together," I make my point. "Which curse is worse?"

This time I can clearly tell I've done it, I've hurt them both. I want to say something else to try and fix this when a brunette in a sleeping gown bumps into me on her way to Gold's pawn shop door. She doesn't apologize or spares me a glance. But as she is entering the shop, I catch her reflection in the window glass and I recognize her immediately.

"Belle?"

But she's inside already and can't hear me. I bolt after her, Ms. Blanchard and David with me, but I come to a halt the moment I cross the threshold. Belle stands before a very shaken Mr. Gold. He looks at her like he can't believe she's actually there.

I'm with him. I mean, what the hell? How did she get away from Jefferson? Did he let her go because the curse was broken? I doubt that.

"Rumple," she says, voice thick with emotion.

Slowly, so very slowly, he reaches out to her and touches her shoulder. He gives it a little squeeze as if evaluating that she's real, that she's there, that he isn't imagining this. Then he speaks.

"You're alive."

Belle nods, tears in her pretty blue eyes. "Regina locked me up," she tells him. "The man… The man who kept me… He let me go. He told me I'd find you here. He said I should tell you that it was Regina who locked me up."

I don't even feel particularly strong about this revelation. It's just something else to add to the list of things I should've known about my mother. She is evil and that is all she's ever going to be. She has kept a woman locked inside the house of mad man for sixteen years.

"She did this to you?" he mutters and I know his voice only doesn't sound threatening because he's still in shock about seeing Belle alive.

"I'm sorry, Rumple," she cries. "I love you."

And then he has her in his arms and the moment is so private I have to look away, at my own shoes.

"Yes," he says into her shoulder. "And I love you, too."

At least someone's happy in the middle of all this.

After a minute or two, Mr. Gold seems to notice they're not alone, that we're intruding in their private reunion. He steps away from Belle, eyes now on me.

"What can I do for you, Miss Mills?" he asks, sounding more like himself.

I straighten up. "You can tells us what you've done," I say.

He blinks. "I'm sorry, you're gonna have to be more specific."

"You know damn well what we're talking about," says David.

"You double-crossed Hannah," Ms. Blanchard provides, "you took your, uh, potion from her."

"And did who knows what to this town," David adds.

"And gambled with Flynn's life," I finish.

Belle is looking from one face to the other, trying to understand what's going on. She can join the club.

Mr. Gold seems unconcerned. "Well, that is quite a litany of grievances, now, isn't it?" He's playing with me. Again. I wish I could just…

"Maybe I don't need answers," I say, "maybe I just need to punch you in the face."

"Hoh!" He laughs in my face. "Really, dearie? Allow me to answer your questions with some of my own. Did you dear boy Flynn survive?"

I start, not sure where he's going with this. "Yes."

"Is the curse broken?" He doesn't wait for an answer this time. "And let's see, Miss Mills, how long have you longed to meet your parents? Looks like you're reunited. Seems like rather a punch in the face, I deserve a thank you."

If I had to choose, I'd still pick the punch.

"What was the purple haze that you brought?" I ask.

"Magic," he answers without hesitation.

With the corner of my eyes, I see Belle's eyes widen.

"Why?" asks Ms. Blanchard.

"Not telling. Now, if you excuse me, I have other business to attend to. Belle, dear," he gestures her to the back of the shop and the two of them disappear through the door.

* * *

We gather at Granny's. People are disappointed that we don't have anything new to share, nor any answers. But I'm hungry. I order a big pile of pancakes and a cup of cocoa. David and Ms. Blanchard seem content to watch me eat. That makes me a little uncomfortable, so I keep my eyes on everyone else. I'm a little disappointed that I don't find August here. I wonder where he is. Surely he must be up and about by now. I broke the curse. It must have fixed him.

Flynn joins us a little while later. He isn't surprised by what we told him about Gold. In fact, he looks like that's exactly what he expected to hear. Well, except the part about Belle. Like me, he doesn't understand why Jefferson would just let her go.

Time goes by slowly. Or maybe I'm just very tired. I should probably ask to be excused and go take a nap or something before I pass out with my face on my pancakes. Now that I'm just sitting here (and not going around town like a crazy person) my exhaustion has caught up with me.

I'm about to tell them that when the ground under our feet rumbles, shaking violently, knocking down chairs, plates, people. It lasts no more than a few seconds, but it's enough to leave us disoriented and scared (and to wake me up again).

What could possibly be happening now?

Getting my bearings, I hurry toward the window and look out. The sky has darkened even though it isn't even lunch time yet. Unnatural wind ruffles the leaves. A lamp post flickers on and off. And then a roaring—a guttural, inhuman sound that chills me to the bone.

Something crosses the street, so fast I think it must've been flying. A dark shape. Something evil. Something that is going straight to the police station.

Regina!

I hear people calling my name, but I run out into the streets all the same. There are people following me and I can pretty much guess who. I don't look back though.

When I reach the police station, the bars from her cell have been torn off their handles and Regina's facing her assailer. Well, not facing exactly. The thing seems to be sucking her face off.

I can't quite describe what it looks like. It wears a black, torn hood over its head. Slimy, greenish, rotten arms stick out with hands like claws. It floats five feet from the ground. From the black pit under the hood, I can only make out two tiny, round red eyes that glimmer with a malevolent power. This is not from this world. I doubt this is from any known world.

I freeze at the door watching with horror the scene unfolding before me.

But David—God bless him—is much in charge of his limbs. Grabbing the nearest chair, he slams it against the thing's back. It doesn't seem to do any damage, but it's enough to distract it so it lets go of Regina, who falls backwards on the ground and tries to crawl away.

The thing turns on David and with a wave of its disgusting hand gives him a magical shove that pushes David over the sheriff's desk. Then it shoves the desk against him, but David quickly throws himself out of the way.

Ms. Blanchard, from a nearby drawer, pulls out a lighter and an air freshener that she uses to make a flamethrower. It makes the thing screech in pain. In fact, it works so well that the monster, whatever it is, picking its battles, decides to leave through one of the big windows.

I finally get back control of my body and I run to Regina who is cowering against the lower corner of her cell. After a quick check, I decide she's okay, just a little shook up.

"What the hell was that thing?" I ask, helping her to her feet.

"A wraith!" she exclaims. "A soul sucker." When no one says anything, she adds, "It'll be back. It doesn't stop until it devours its prey. Me."

"What?" I say. "What do you… How… Why?"

Regina's eyes are set on something invisible. "Gold," she answers. "He came to see me. He wants to punish me because I… I…"

And then it clicks. "Because you kept Belle from him," I guess.

Regina nods. "Jefferson… He did that on purpose. He was mad at me, so he let her go because he knew she'd go to Gold, that she would tell him I did it."

I know Jefferson has to have a reason for letting Belle go, but right now I can't dwell on this. "How do we kill it?"

"There's no way," Regina sighs. "You can't kill something that's already dead. And Gold marked me." She raises her left hand. Burnt in her palm is a symbol like an ancient rune, similar to a Y. "It will never stop until it gets me."

Of course. When was anything ever easy? "Then we have a problem."

"No," David says, startling me. I look over my shoulder. "We don't. Regina does."

"David—" Ms. Blanchard starts to say, but I interrupt.

"You want to let her die?" I hate the way my voice cracks when I say that, but I need to get this straight.

"Why not?" he says; his face is hard and I can tell that right this instant he's only seeing the woman who took his wife and child from him for sixteen years. "Then it goes away. Then we're safe."

"That's quite the example you're setting for your daughter there," Regina snarls.

"No." He takes three steps toward her until they're face to face, his index pointed at her. "You don't get to judge us. You brought all of this on yourself."

"David," I call softly, partly because I want everyone to calm down, partly because I'm still learning how to speak to him. "She's my mother." I guess it's low of me that I keep reminding them of that, but what else can I do? "She's not dying."

I feel Regina and Ms. Blanchard's eyes on me, but I hold David's gaze. He seems to be struggling with a decision. Fortunately for him, Ms. Blanchard makes it, so he doesn't have to.

"If it can't be killed, what do you suggest?" she asks Regina.

Regina has her answer ready. "We send it somewhere it can't hurt anyone."

* * *

We go back to our house, and into Regina's office where I've been very seldom allowed in. This is the only place of the entire house that has her personal touch to it. The walls are covered in forest printed paper and dark gothic curtains hang at the windows. There is a large stone table right at the center of the room where a great, dusty top hat awaits us.

Not just any hat—Jefferson's hat.

"You had it all along!" I exclaim. "Is that why he's mad at you?" I press when she doesn't answer me. "Is that why he let Belle go?"

Regina touches the rim of the hat, thoughtful. "No," she says. "I made a promise to him that I would send him and his daughter back to the Enchanted Forest if he helped me with something in return."

I frown, thinking I'm not gonna like where this is going. Still, I ask, "What did you need him to do?"

Regina faces me. "I asked him to help me kill your boyfriend," she says matter-of-factly. Yes, just like that. She doesn't even have the decency to blush. I thank God that Flynn isn't here for this. He might've wanted to punch her and I would have to let him because she totally deserves it.

David chooses this moment to enter the room carrying a handful of brooms. "Torches," he says to my inquiring face. "For when it comes back. Old-fashioned, but so am I." I'm glad someone has their priorities straight in this family.

Regina places the hat on the floor in one of the ends of the room. "It'll open a portal to our land," she explains. "All we have to do is send the wraith in there."

"Oh, yeah," says David, not keeping the sarcasm to a minimum. "Just that."

"I don't understand," says Ms. Blanchard, approaching. She still has a lighter in hand and she hands me another. I put in my back pocket. "I thought our land was gone."

Regina is crouching before the hat. She moves it a bit as if not satisfied by its position on the ground. "It is," she answers, her attention solely on the hat. "But sending it to a place that longer exists… well, that's banishing it to oblivion."

Just then there is a whooshing sound in the air and the lights start to flicker. The floor stars to rumble. Ms. Blanchard starts lighting the brooms on fire. David holds it like a torch. Me and Ms. Blanchard do the same. Regina stars twirling the hat on the floor but nothing happens.

"Mom?" I call in warning.

Ms. Blanchard glances at me.

"I'm trying," Regina answers.

And then the doors to her office burst open and both a gust of wind and a mighty roar reaches us. The thing comes flying toward us and David meets it halfway with his fiery broom, keeping it at bay.

"Mom!"

"It's not working!"

"What's the problem?"

"Magic," she mutters, as if she's just realized this. "It's different here."

I kneel down, touching her shoulder for support and that's when an electric wave goes through us and the hat starts spinning on its own. It becomes a black hole on the ground surrounded by purple haze, getting wider and wider, and spinning faster and faster.

Regina looks at me with accusing eyes and I'm trying to understand what she's blaming me for when David yells, "It's coming!" I only have enough time to snap my head. The thing is flying straight at Regina, who's distracted, still staring at me. Without thinking, I push her out of the way.

Since the thing got close enough to the hat (which is what we intended), it gets sucked by the black hole. But just as it is disappearing from our lives forever, its slimy, dead hand grabs my ankle and pulls me with it.

I'm knocked on my stomach, the air leaving my lungs, and I bite my tongue. A metallic taste fills my mouth. I hear someone scream, something being knocked over, and then I'm being dragged into the portal and everything goes black.


	9. The Enchanted Forest

I wake up feeling wonderfully rested. It'd been such a long time since I last slept. But as soon as my mind starts clearing, I notice I'm lying on something hard and uncomfortable, my head against a… a… rock? I open my eyes. Sunlight greets me. The smell of dirt. There's no ceiling—I'm in a literal hole in the ground.

How in the world…?

I sit up. Beside me Ms. Blanchard lies unconscious. Memories start flooding my brain. My birthday. The curse. Regina. The wraith. The portal. Yes, I fell through the portal. But what is Ms. Blanchard doing here? Could it be she… she followed me here?

And where is here? Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore. Or Storybrooke.

"Hello," an agreeable voice says to my right. I turn around. Sitting against the stone wall is an older woman wearing an old-fashioned green dress and a matching shawl. She has brown hair tied in thick braid that falls over her left shoulder and brown eyes that study my face with great interest.

"Hi," I say carefully. "What… What is this place? Where are we?"

"It's a little island our captors like to think as their haven," she tells me.

"Haven?" I repeat. I don't like the sound of that. "From what?"

Her face turns serious. "The world's dangerous," she says. "What's left of it anyway."

That clicks something in my head. "What's left…? Is this the Enchanted Forest?" I know Regina told us this place doesn't exist anymore, but if she opened the portal to send the wraith here and we came through… it makes sense. Vaguely.

The woman smiles warmly. "Why, of course, dear. What else could it be?"

Duh. And I was hoping she would say 'Enchanted Forest? What's that? No, girl, we're still in Maine. Let me get you to a phone.'

"Well, they can't keep us down here," I say because I can't think about portals and forests and lies right now or I might flip. The important thing is to get out of this hole so Ms. Blanchard and I can figure out a way to go back to Storybrooke. I haven't had a moment of peace with Flynn since he… well, died. "We didn't do anything wrong."

The woman shrugs. "Neither did I."

Why do I find that hard to believe? "Then why are you here?"

"I'm here because of something… my daughter did," she admits slowly, measuring my reaction. "The curse that ravaged this land… she cast it."

Regina!

My mouth drops open. I'm suddenly alarmed. "You're… Cora?" I want to slap myself. I should have an evil-mom-radar by now.

"Yes. But you've nothing to fear from me," she quickly assures me. "The apple fell very far from the tree." What a lying liar! How dare she? Can't she tell by my disgusted expression that I know exactly who she is and what she's capable of? "You're from over there, aren't you? How did you get back?"

"Hannah."

Ms. Blanchard has sitten up. She is looking at Cora like she's the devil. I guess she might as well be.

"Oh, Snow!" says Cora, still sounding pretty agreeable. "You're awake. I'm so relieved!" She makes a move toward us and Ms. Blanchard quickly puts herself between Cora and me. "Oh, sweet Snow, please, believe me. Whatever she told you isn't true. I just want to help you."

That gets my attention. Not because Cora looks especially in the mood to help us, but because we're definitely in the mood to be helped. "How?"

"Hannah." Ms. Blanchard's tone is cold—a warning.

I try to be reasonable. "Look, right now we are at the bottom of a hole with no other options and everyone else is back in Storybrooke… with my mom."

"Your mom?" says Cora, looking from me to Ms. Blanchard.

"Regina," I say. "She raised me. It's kind of a long stor—"

Ms. Blanchard grabs me by the shoulders. "Don't talk to her!" I never saw her like this, so on edge, guard completely on. It's honestly kind of scary.

"Enough!" a strong, male voice shouts from above. The three of us look up just as a piece of rope is being thrown down. "Our leader requests an audience."

He pulls both me and Ms. Blanchard out of the hole and I finally get a good look at where we are. This place is unlike anything I've ever seen. We're in a large clearing surrounded by tall trees and open sky. It makes me think that city landscapes are quite claustrophobic with skyscrapers raising from the ground in every direction you look. Here, the horizon goes on forever—you can't see where it ends.

There are hand-built huts made out of wood and straws separated by a few miles where people stand to watch us go by. Some of them look mildly interested; some look a little spooked. They are dressed in medieval attire—long wool dresses, trousers, leather boots, long capes.

This is fairytale land. The thought almost makes me pass out again.

"You have to start listening to me," Ms. Blanchard whispers as we follow our guide through the campsite. I glance at her. She looks a little mad.

"I—I am," I stammer. "I just wanted some answers."

"I've lived here, Hannah, you haven't. I know this world and its dangers. Do not underestimate Cora." Her tone is so harsh it stings a bit. I'm reminded of Regina and all the times she chastised me and made me feel like a stupid little kid. It upsets me. Ms. Blanchard has always been the one person who never criticized me for anything.

"It's that why you came through the portal? You think I'm helpless here?" I sound like a little brat even to my own ears, but too late, the words are out.

"No." Ms. Blanchard's face softens. "I came through to be with you," she says like that's a completely obvious thing and she can't believe I wouldn't know that.

I immediately feel like a worm. This is our second day as mother and daughter and I'm already picking fights with her. I should be more open to her affection. I should be more open about mine.

I'm considering reaching out and hugging her, when something behind me catches Ms. Blanchard's attentions. "Lancelot?" she asks, sounding delighted.

I spin around just as a bald black dude greets Ms. Blanchard with an ear-to-ear smile. "Snow!"

And it's him she hugs, not me.

"If I'd have known that you were the prisoners Mulan had brought back, I never would've locked you away," Lancelot tells her, holding her hands on a tight grip. "Please, forgive me."

As I watch him speak to Ms. Blanchard, I remember reading about him in the book of stories. He'd been one of King Arthur's most favored knight before he came to the Enchanted Forest and became King George's (David's father) new general. He aided Snow White and Prince Charming after King George's other men hurt Ruth, David's mother and my grandmother. He was, in fact, the one who married Snow White and Prince Charming at Lake Nostos. I can hear his words in my head as if I've been there myself.

 ** _In my kingdom, there is legend of a cup that has the power to grant eternal life. And so may the love between you always be strong, true, and eternal._**

Ms. Blanchard doesn't hesitate on granting his request. "Of course!" She turns to me. "Hannah, this is an old friend of mine. Lancelot, this is my daughter."

It's the first time I'm introduced as Ms. Blanchard's daughter. Surprisingly, it doesn't sound weird coming out of her mouth. She makes it natural, just right. I like it.

To Lancelot, on the other hand, this is very unexpected news, but before making further inquiry, he leads us to a long, wood table (where there's food! Thank God!) and asks us to make ourselves at home. We sit together, just the three of us, still under the watchful eyes of the other villagers and I direct my attention to the center of the table where a big bowl holds something resembling meat.

"What is that?" I ask, not sure if it's edible.

"That is chimera," Lancelot answers. "An acquired taste, but all our hunting party could bring back." I must still look confuse because he elaborates. "One part lion, one part serpent, one part goat."

I discreetly put down my fork, my appetite gone.

"I don't understand," says Ms. Blanchard, getting us back to business. "We were told this land didn't even exist anymore. How did you all escape the curse?"

"Until this moment, we didn't even know we had. The curse struck and when the smoke cleared, most of us had been torn from this land. That was two days ago," Lancelot tells us, face grave.

"Two days? Then… then time must have frozen here," Ms. Blanchard deducts. "It's been sixteen years for us."

That must be why Lancelot was so surprised to see me—I wonder if he ever even saw Snow White pregnant with me. No… I think the last time he saw her was when he married her.

"I feared as much," he says with a sigh. "It hasn't been easy putting the pieces back together, trying to understand where half of the people have gone to… But fear not. You are safe here. We can figure this out together."

"We can't stay," Ms. Blanchard tells him. "My husband is back there, in the other land. And Hannah's boyfriend. Our friends. We have to get back to them. Can you help us find a portal?"

I look at her with appreciation. She is dead set on getting us back. I knew she would be, but still I'm glad.

Lancelot considers us. "Leaving is unwise," he says, slowly. "The Enchanted Forest is not as you remember it. The ogres have returned."

"But it's been two days!"

"Wait—the ogres?" I say and I'm ashamed that I sound a little hysterical but there you have it. "Like as in fee-fi-fo-fum?"

"Those would be giants," Ms. Blanchard corrects me.

Oh goody. I guess I don't have to worry then.

"Ogres are far worse."

Scratch that.

"It's safe here in this island," says Lancelot. "The ogres can't get here. Please, Snow, you should stay. There are no portals left."

There is a moment of silence in which Ms. Blanchard seems to be measuring her next words.

"I might know of one."

"You do?" Lancelot and I say together.

"Where?" he asks.

Ms. Blanchard shakes her head. "Cora's near. I don't feel comfortable voicing my plans. She's powerful."

"Not anymore. The curse stripped her of her powers. But given her reputation, we've kept her locked up as a precaution."

"Nevertheless, I'm not taking chances. Just trust me. I may have a way." Ms. Blanchard gives him a soft, beseeching look. "Let us go."

It takes Lancelot a half a minute to answer. "I'll allow it. But on one condition… take my bravest warrior with you. Allow Mulan to defend you." He gestures to someone on our left and a young Chinese woman dressed in armor comes toward us. She is very pretty, but the expression on her face isn't very approachable. She looks like she's just swallowed a very sour lemon.

"Deal," says Ms. Blanchard. "Thank you, Lancelot, for always looking out for me."

Mulan calls out to two men and they bring a 70cm length wood-chest to where Ms. Blanchard and I are waiting. They set the thing down with a bang. Mulan pops the lid open. "Choose wisely," she says. "We must be vigilant if we hope to survive the journey."

I peer inside. The chest holds many number of sharp weapons. Ms. Blanchard readily reaches in for a simple bow and a golden quiver with about twenty arrows. Then she chooses a short sword with a belted scabbard that she wraps around her waist. None of that goes well with her pink cardigan.

Both of them look at me expectantly. I swallow. I don't want to carry any of that. It is more likely I'll end up cutting myself and not any enemies. With a sigh, I decide to go for a small dagger that doesn't make me feel so inadequate. That and the lighter still in my back pocket is as armed as I've ever been.

Apparently satisfied, Mulan says, "Follow my lead, step where I step, do exactly as I say, and we might survive." Her tone is as sharp as most of these weapons. I don't much care for it.

"Thanks for the pep talk, but we'll be fine," I tell her.

She doesn't care for my tone either.

"Have you ever seen an ogre?" she asks me. The way she's looking at me says she already knows the answer to that.

"Yesterday I talked a dragon into not killing me." In fact, I can't believe that was just yesterday.

Mulan takes three steps toward me so she can stare right into the depths of my soul. "Legend has it that when an ogre kills you, the last thing you see is yourself dying in the reflection in their eyes."

Surprisingly that does not have the effect she intended to. I want to laugh. Not because what she said is particularly funny, but because of how much she seems to dislike me. It's like a breath of fresh air—someone so independent, with such a strong personality, and so obviously not trapped by a curse that dictates her behavior. I find it beautiful.

"You really don't like me, do you?" I hear myself say. I can feel Ms. Blanchard attentively watching Mulan, like she's ready to step in if things get out of hand.

But Mulan only gives me a dry smile and says, "Let's walk, Princess. It'll be dark soon." And she goes on ahead in her long strides.

Ms. Blanchard falls in pace beside me. "Don't let her rattle you," she says. "I won't let anything happen to us. Stick to the plan."

"What is the plan? You haven't told me anything," I complain. "What's going on?"

"The wardrobe," she whispers.

"The wardrobe?" I repeat. And then it clicks. "Oh, _the_ wardrobe? Like the wardrobe that sent little Odette to Maine?" For some reason, I still think of Odette and me as two different people. "You think it could get us back to Storybrooke?"

"I don't know. First we have to see if it survived the curse, then we'll worry about making it work."

"Where is it?"

Ms. Blanchard hesitates like the answer is painful. "My place," she says. "You wanna see where you're from, Hannah? We're going home."

* * *

"This will do," Mulan says after about five hours of endless marching. My legs are numb from walking, my eyes can't stand the green anymore and my throat is dry like I've been eating sand for the last few hours. "We'll make camp here for the night. We just need to find water, collect some firewood."

We're in a clearing, wider than the one in the safe haven. There is nothing but trees for miles and miles. The entire landscape of this place, although beautiful, has began to tire me. After a while, there's nothing you haven't seen. The trees all look the same. The green has been burnt into my eyelids—I see it even with my eyes closed.

"Uh," I grunt in dryness, "if we're hiding from ogres shouldn't we maybe, um, not start a fire?"

"Ogres are blind," Ms. Blanchard tells me and her tone implies that is world-wide knowledge. "They hunt by sound alone."

"Right," I say. "Because that's something everyone would know about ogres."

She gives me an apologetic look. "I know you're out of your element—"

"I'm fine!"

"—maybe you should just stay here while we get wood and water. Guard the campsite."

"You mean the big, empty clearing?"

"It's the safest place," says Ms. Blanchard. "We'll be right back."

With a nod to each other, both her and Mulan walk into the woods. I am left alone with nothing but the green to keep me company. Honestly I don't know what I expected. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks when I come to the realization that I'm the weak link, I'm the useless one in this equation. Here, in this strange land, I'm not a savior—I'm a 21st century princess that needs to be protected.

It is an awful thing to be.

I think about Snow White, who was an actual princess but never once needed someone to have her back. She fought her way through the evil armies of my mother, defeated countless enemies, forged alliances, fought beside her prince… It is still very disconcerting to think she is Ms. Blanchard, elementary teacher, but it does make me feel better.

At least I know she's got this.

I sit comfortably against a tree trunk and within five minutes I'm half asleep in daydreams of my fairytale parents. I realize too late that it's been a mistake to close my eyes. I'm caught extremely out of guard.

I feel the cool blade on my neck before anything else. Then someone's pulling my hair, making my neck more exposed, and a voice whispers in my ear, "Don't move." It's a girl's voice, a little out of breath and definitely very angry. "Philip's gone because of you."

"I… Who?"

She smells sweetly of wildflowers. It overwhelms my nose making me sneeze which almost gets my throat cut.

"Stop that," she says. "I don't know why Lancelot was so nice to you, but you can't fool me. I know you're the reason that monster came after us. You're the reason it's taken Philip."

"I don't know Philip!" I grunt against her blade.

Truth be told, in the back of my mind, the name Philip does mean something. I read about him in the fairy-tale book, how he travelled the land (with Mulan, no less), fighting his way back to the woman he loved—the Princess Aurora. I can, in fact, hear his voice in my mind as real as if I have actually met him.

 _ **The worst of it is over. Now that we're together, we'll restore this castle and our kingdom, and as we dreamt, we'll be here always. Fear not. For there are new dangers now, but nothing we can't handle.**_

That's what he said to her when he woke her from her slumbering.

Next thing I know, the girl is lying on the ground beside me, Ms. Blanchard on top of her. I didn't see her approaching, I didn't hear a thing. I suppose the girl didn't either.

"You think you're the only one who's been separated from the people that you love?" Ms. Blanchard asks her, voice muffled with emotion. "Mulan told me you think what happened to your prince was our fault. You're wrong. It wasn't our idea to send the wraith to this world. So unless you want to pick a fight with me, I suggest you find another way to channel your anger."

Her words send a shiver down my spine—Philip, the wraith… that's not good. It's clear Ms. Blanchard is blaming Regina and I understand why. Regina said the Enchanted Forest no longer existed. She was either wrong (which she so seldom is) or she was lying.

"Enough," Mulan says, pulling Ms. Blanchard from the girl who I assume is Aurora. "Don't talk to her like that."

"She tried to kill my daughter."

"I will deal with her."

It is only when we hear the loud growl that we realize we've been shouting at each other.

"Ogres?" I guess.

"Run!" says Ms. Blanchard taking my hand and half-dragging me into the woods.

The four of us bolt for our lives. Pretty soon Ms. Blanchard has to let go of my hand so we can run properly in this uneven forest ground. She forges on ahead, her feet responding with familiarity while I am left behind trying not to fall on my face.

"Split up!" Mulan shouts and she takes a sharp left. Aurora is right on her heels. I go right after Ms. Blanchard until I do trip on a heavy log and my vision goes blurry as I hit the ground.

As I sit up, it dawns on me that Ms. Blanchard didn't see me fall. She kept on running. And now I'm—

Large footsteps approach. Grunting. Some trees directly behind me are parted to reveal something monstrous. My unmagical brain can hardly process it.

The thing is huge—probably six feet tall or more. It makes a lot of noise due to that. Its skin is a sickly grayish color, its feet the size of a long dining table. Its face is ugly contorted with slits for eyes, toothless mouth and a squashed nose. It is wearing dirty rags and no shoes, and its bald head glistens under the sunlight.

I lie flat on the grass trying to be inconspicuous while at the same time wanting to avoid being stepped on. I wish I could get up and run, but I'm fairly certain my legs have turned to Jell-O. I hold my breath remembering that it can't see me, only hear, and I try to be as quiet as possible although my heart is drumming a death soundtrack for me.

The thing falls to one knee, just a foot from where I am. It bends forward, its giant, misshapen face nearing me, and it takes a deep breath. I feel like my eyes are going to pop out of my skull—it can smell me. It seems like a pretty obvious notion now that I think of it.

When I'm about to pass out, both me and the thing hear a loud whistle to the right. Our heads turn. Ms. Blanchard stands about 4 miles from us, bow in hand. The fierce look on her face is unlike anything I've ever seen. She is Snow White now.

"Step away from my daughter," she booms as she takes an arrow from her quiver and places in her bow. The ogre raises slowly as if mildly interested in this new personage, and when it finally decides to take a step toward Ms. Blanchard she releases her arrow and hits the bullseye—quite literally, she hits the thing in its right eye.

The ogre lets out a horrible shriek that shakes the trees around us. It stumbles backwards and I quickly stand up and back away so it doesn't stomp me. I'm so shocked by everything that has happened I don't know how I find the strength to move. I watch, in horror, as the ogre falls sideways and I keep watching although the thing never moves again.

Ms. Blanchard rushes to my side. "Hannah? Hannah?" She takes my face in her hands and forces me to look at her. It's hard, really, I keep expecting the thing to get up again and eat us alive. "It's okay," Ms. Blanchard assures me. "It's dead. Their weaknesses are their eyes."

"When was the last time you shot an arrow?" My voice sounds a little hysterical.

Ms. Blanchard makes a face, like she's trying not to laugh. She considers my question. "Sixteen years ago. I guess it's like riding a bike." She lets go of me, apparently convinced I'm fine (I'm not—still pretty shocked here), and goes retrieve her arrow from the ogre's right eye. "We should go," she says. "Come on. Mulan will be looking for us."

Slowly blood starts flowing down my legs again. I follow her.

* * *

We keep heading north. We have to walk on a line now because the forest has grown thicker and thicker. Mulan leads the way with Ms. Blanchard on her heels. Then there's me and Aurora trailing behind. She hasn't said much after she tried to kill me and Ms. Blanchard threatened her. I guess we're pretending that didn't happen. Still, I feel a little guilty about her prince. If the wraith took him (or his soul) I am partially responsible, regardless of what Ms. Blanchard said. Because I was the one who insisted on saving Regina. I have always been the one who falls for her lies.

"Aurora, you've gotta keep up." Mulan's tone of voice is contained, patient, like she's talking to a small child. I wonder if she likes Aurora—I thought she did by the way she defended her before, but now I can't be sure. I wonder if she likes anybody.

"Sorry, but I'm not exactly dressed for the woods," the young Princess replies. She is right, of course. She's wearing a fancy long lavender gown, a shawl and a delicate flower crown on her head. I wouldn't be surprised to find out she's wearing high heels under that. And if I'm having trouble keeping up in jeans and sneakers, Aurora has very good reason to keep falling behind.

"Then maybe you should've listened to me and stayed back," is Mulan's sharp answer.

None of us says anything after that, until it's way after dark and we have reached the edge of the woods. Mulan is holding a lit torch ahead and Ms. Blanchard points north. "We're here," she says. "That's our home."

The trees make way to a breathtaking sight. Out in the ocean, connected to land only by a large wooden bridge is the castle of every little girl's dreams—or better saying was—now it's in ruins. I look at Ms. Blanchard whose eyes are fixed in her old home and I can, somehow, easily picture her there.

With a deep breath, fighting away tears, Ms. Blanchard guides us the rest of the way. I feel awfully inadequate. The small voice in my head keeps reminding me she is my mother and maybe I should try to make her feel better. Maybe I should reach out, take her hand. But I feel awkward about it. Still feels like it isn't my place. I find myself wishing David was here. He would know what to do.

The inside of the castle is even more impressive with high walls and large windows. But it's a mess in here. There are broken chandeliers in almost every room. Furniture has been thrown around. Curtains have been torn to shreds. Family heirlooms have been smashed into pieces. There's a faint smell in the air—mold and ocean water.

Ms. Blanchard doesn't linger in anywhere in particular—in fact, she seems to be doing her best to ignore everything around her. The memories must be painful, I realize, and again I wonder if I should be the one to comfort her when I still am the daughter of the one who did this to her, who gave her this pain.

She guides us to the nursery. I don't really understand what it means until I'm actually in here. The room is dark and damp, but I can see it wasn't always like this. There are toys and delicate ornaments broken in the dirty floor. A crib lies sideways to one corner. From the ceiling hangs a dozen of little glass swans.

This is little Odette's bedroom. This is my bedroom.

I'm not ready for how that makes me feel. I feel robbed. I feel like all of this was taken from me. Life was taken from me.

My eyes fall on the wardrobe near the window seat. It is made from a magical oak tree. The intricate design on the doors are familiar to me. "It looks just like the one in the book," I say, heading straight for it. I decide to do exactly like Ms. Blanchard's and I try to ignore all these old belongings that should've been mine. I focus on the task at hand.

"Aurora," Mulan calls, "come with me. We'll stay watch at the gate." I don't look back, but I can sense them leaving the room. Ms. Blanchard has gone to where the crib lies.

"I never thought I'd see this place again," she mutters. Against my will, I spin around. She has a stuffed giraffe in her hand, old and damp. "This room. Your nursery. You never even got to spend a night."

I feel a tight clutch in my chest, but I can't cry here. If I do… well, I'm pretty sure she's going to cry too and then what are we going to do?

She glances up at the glass swans, a dreamy look in her face. "Odette," she says and for a second I wonder if she's just decided to call me that to see if I'll answer. "It means 'white swan'. When our people heard that was to be your name, they started calling you 'the swan princess'. There were banners welcoming you to the world. For a while everyone was so excited, they even forgot the curse was coming to destroy everything they held dear."

The Swan Princess. I can't help but smile at that. There are worst monikers. Much, much worse. I, Hannah, have never felt anything like a swan, but maybe Odette would've. Maybe I'm the ugly duckling to her beautiful swan.

Ms. Blanchard turns her back at me, eyes following the thorn wallpaper. "This is the life I wanted you to have. I was going to teach you how to walk in here, how to talk, how to dress for your first ball. David would teach you how to dance." She let out a bitter laugh. "We never got to do any of it. We never got to be a family."

I don't know what to say to that. I'm sorry my mother did this to you? To me? To us? I'm sorry your worst enemy got to do all of these things you long for? That she taught me to walk, talk, eat and kick men in the crotch?

"We can now," is my lame-ass answer. "We just need to get back to Storybrooke first. So how do we get this to work?" I gesture to the wardrobe hoping Ms. Blanchard will stop staring at the giraffe in her hands.

Indeed she does. She puts the giraffe down and comes toward me. She opens the wardrobe doors revealing absolutely nothing. Not even an on switch.

"We'll have to get it back to the island," she tells me. "Hopefully someone there has access to enough magic to make it work again."

"How are we gonna carry this thing?"

Before Ms. Blanchard can answer, a booming voice from behind us says, "With the help of an old friend."

"Lancelot!" Ms. Blanchard exclaims, glancing at the door. "What are you doing here?"

"We heard about the ogre attack and I had to make sure you were alright," he says coming inside the room. He's wearing full body armor now. He left hand rests on the hilt of his longsword.

"Oh. Where are Mulan and Aurora?"

"I sent them to find food. Tonight we'll make camp and in the morning we'll head back." His eyes fall on the wardrobe. "So… this is it… the portal you were after."

"The same one Hannah went through. It's how she escaped the curse."

"Remarkable." There is a strange glimmer in his eyes as he examines the wardrobe from top to bottom. It looks almost like… hunger.

"Only…" Ms. Blanchard sighs, "there's no magic left."

"A portal this powerful," Lancelot scoffs, "there must be another way to recharge it."

Ms. Blanchard frowns. She turns to her friend watching him warily. "Why are you so interested in the wardrobe?" her voice is calm and collected, but I identify something underneath it—doubt.

Lancelot makes a face like he thinks her question is out of place. "Well, I just want to get you home to your husband, your boyfriend," he says to me, "and your other mother. They must miss you."

Ms. Blanchard looks at me, too, for the briefest of seconds and then she unsheathes her sword in one swift motion. She points it threateningly at Lancelot with her right hand, at the same time pushing me away with her left one. "Stay away from him, Hannah," she warns me. "He is not who he says he is. There is only one person you told about Regina."

The name comes to me like in a nightmare—Cora.


End file.
